


Draco Malfoy and the Year He Kept Getting Hexed

by iamaghost



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamaghost/pseuds/iamaghost
Summary: Draco is just trying to get through his eighth year at Hogwarts without getting hexed. Again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of these characters. JK Rowling does. I just like to borrow them every now and again.

Draco couldn’t believe that they were making Amortentia. He had assumed that in their eighth year they would have moved onto something a little more difficult. But no, they were stuck in Slughorn’s basement as he lectured them about the “danger” of a little love potion. Absurd. Draco could brew Amortentia in his sleep. Although considering the way Potter and Weasley were scouring their books and nudging Granger, some others in the class may not have found the assignment quite so simple. What Potter and Weasley were doing in this class he didn’t know. They had been struggling with potions since their fourth year, and it looked like their year off hadn’t done anything to improve their ability.

  
Slughorn eventually stopped babbling and began to sort them into pairs. Since the eighth year, students were all taking classes together, regardless of which house they were in, this sent a fissure of tension through the room. When they had all arrived back at Hogwarts less than a week ago, Headmistress McGonagall had been quick to pull them all aside for a quick welcome-back lecture. Which had included her thinly-disguised threat of expulsion for anyone who threatened the inter-house unity that she was trying to establish. So while everyone was on their best behavior in public — particularly in their shared common space, as all the eighth years lived together rather than with the rest of their houses–tensions were going to reach a breaking point eventually. There was too much history to sweep under the rug. And the constant, forced intermingling between houses that was occurring in all their classes wasn’t helping matters.

Draco listened for his name as he compiled a list of what he’d need in his head. If he could finish his potion early it was possible that Slughorn would let him duck out of class early, which would give him time to finish up his letter to his mother before Charms. He pulled his attention away from worrying about his mother when his last name reached the back of the room in Slughorn’s slow drawl. He listened for the name of his partner, but Slughorn had moved onto the next pairing. Which meant that Draco had missed the name of whatever schmuck he was stuck with. He sent a quick glance about the room, hoping his partner was staring at him. He met the gaze of Harry Potter, Boy Wonder, and felt his heart drop. Anyone but Potter. Weasley was also staring at him, and his horrified expression had Draco hoping it wasn’t him, either. Granger was pulling on both of their arms, trying to get them to turn back towards the front, which was a little bit of a disappointment. If Draco had to be paired with any of the Golden Trio, he’d prefer it to be Granger. Admittedly, he didn’t know if their partnership would end with another broken nose on his part, but at least he could be assured that their potion would be flawless. She was almost as good at potions as he was. Some Hufflepuff whose name he couldn’t remember was also staring at him, and he hoped the boy was his partner. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with his past in the form of the Golden Boy or the Sidekick.

Slughorn finished up his list and waddled towards his desk, falling into his chair, which gave an alarmingly loud groan. “You have one and a half hours to complete your potion. Remember, this potion can be a little tricky, but I want to judge where we are as a class to determine the lessons moving forward.” Slughorn’s protruding belly jiggled when he talked, “Are you ready? Begin!”

Draco got up and went to the supply cabinet, his long legs getting him there before the mad rush of students behind him had the chance to grab the best ingredients. He pulled those off the shelves for himself, hoping that while he was busy grabbing his supplies his partner would move to his table so that he wouldn’t be left guessing on his return.

With his arms full of various degrees of hazardous ingredients, he elbowed his way through the throng of people behind him. There was someone at his table — a familiar mop of messy dark hair. Draco was unsurprised when the head spun around at his arrival and he was staring at Harry Potter.

“Hey,” Potter said, and Draco was surprised at how deep his voice had gotten. It was fitting — both of them had done a lot of growing up in the past year.

“Hey,” Draco replied, carefully setting his armfuls of supplies on the table. He began to sort them depending on when they would be needed for the potion. “So, I can pretty much make this potion in my sleep, so if you want to just sit there that’s fine.”

“What?” Potter’s eyebrows pulled low behind his glasses.

“You can just sit there,” Draco said after a pause, “I can make the potion.”

“What, because I’m not smart enough? I can make the potion, too.” Potter’s voice was rough and low and Draco had no idea what to do in the face of his sudden anger. It had been a long time since Harry Potter had looked at him with scorn. Draco had forgotten what if felt like to have Boy Wonder’s full attention, had forgotten how much he liked it, even when the attention was anger.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Draco tried to backtrack. He didn’t need Potter going to McGonagall over this. Draco was already on an indefinite probation because of the mark that covered his forearm.

“Whatever, I’m going to help. I’ll probably need to know how to make it for our NEWTS anyways.” A rosy blush filled Potter’s cheeks. Draco studiously ignored his embarrassment and focused on the book in front of him. Draco nodded and pushed some of the ingredients over to Potter’s side of the table.

They worked in silence for most of the next hour. Draco had to save the potion a few times — when Potter tried to dump in the powdered moonstone too early, or when his rose thorns looked like they had been hacked up by an angry cat. But overall, they worked in companionable silence. As long as Draco ignored the incredulous and constant stares from Weasley and avoided making eye contact with Pansy or Blaise, it was rather pleasant.

By the time class was up, their potion had a beautiful pearly sheen and steam rose in perfect spirals from the bubbling surface. The familiar smells of treacle tart, polished wood, and cinnamon filled the air around him. He concentrated on not getting sucked into the tantalizing allure of the potion. He didn’t have time for love this year, especially of the magically-created variety.  
Slughorn finished his examinations of everyone’s potions — he had leaned over Draco and Potter’s and took a few appreciative sniffs before waddling back to the front of the room.

“Wonderful,” Slughorn bounced in place behind his desk. “Just wonderful. Fill up a beaker and label it with your names and then you’re free to go.”

“I can do it, you can go,” Potter said, a beaker appearing in midair with a wave of his wand. “You’ve been glancing at the door for the past twenty minutes.”

“Oh, you sure?” Draco asked, gathering up all his books.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Thanks.”

Draco ducked out of the room, his arms overflowing with textbooks. He had just enough time to get to send off an owl before his next class.

 

* * *

 

Draco was tucked in the back corner of the library when it happened. He had heard the nervous whispers, little wisps of sound that crept through the endless maze of shelves. But he hadn’t given them any attention, used to the whispers and the stares, those had started way before he had chosen the wrong side. Chosen being the operative word, according to most of the wizarding population. As if you said no to a psychopathic madman when he asked for your devotion.

It took him longer than it should have to realize that something was off. But in the months since the Dark Lord’s defeat he had forgotten how to constantly keep watch, how to become invisible in plain sight. Forgotten what it meant when eyes full of menace caught and held his gaze.

So he was surprised when the hateful eyes whose gaze he met unflinchingly became secondary to the wand that was pointed at his chest. Even more surprised when a bright jet of light erupted from it, even as he dove sideways out of his chair. The spell caught him as he fell, his body filled with an unbearable pain. He noticed movement in the corner of his eye and was surprised to see Potter running towards him. Surprise seemed to be a theme today, he thought, as his world began to go dark.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up in the infirmary. That much was obvious from the paper thin bed he was laying on. Why the most uncomfortable beds in the castle were in the infirmary, he had no idea. 

Draco could hear voices on the other side of the curtain that had been pulled around his bed, shielding him from the view of anyone else in the room. He appreciated that he didn’t have to wake up to anyone’s intrusive stares. The voices were talking about him. He managed not to groan aloud when he recognized McGonagall’s voice. She would probably claim that he had cursed himself. Which, if she would let him stay and finish up this year, he would agree with if it made her happy. He was surprised for the second time at Potter’s appearance when his voice suddenly cut across McGonagall’s. Draco tried to sit up in bed, to hear more than the muffled sound of their voices, but the pain had him falling back against the pillows. 

The curtains were suddenly wrenched back and Draco jumped, pulling the blanket that covered him up a little higher even though he was wearing all his clothes. Potter stood on the other side, McGongall and Madam Pomfrey behind him. 

“Tell them you were cursed,” Potter demanded, his cheeks red. 

“What?” Draco struggled to sit up, embarrassed and grateful when Madam Pomfrey bustled forward to plump another pillow behind his back.   
“Tell them that you were cursed. That was what happened.” 

McGonagall stepped forward, brushing Potter aside, “We’re just trying to understand what happened, Mr. Malfoy. I’ve gotten some conflicting reports.”

“Conflicting–“ Potter erupted, his whole face filling with a rush of blood. He looked remarkably like he was going to explode, “–those little shits are lying!” 

“Language, Potter.” McGonagall snapped. 

“Who’s lying?” Draco rubbed at a headache that was forming behind his forehead. 

“The young men who attacked you,” McGonagall sighed, her angry facade dropping away, “They claim that they hit you with a Jelly-Legs Jinx and that is why you fell out of your chair and hit your head.”

“I hit my head?” 

“You did. Which is why you should be resting, and not dealing with this interrogation.” Madam Pomfrey fussed beside him, waving her wand over him so that he felt an oddly intrusive perusal of his internal body. 

“It was not a Jelly-Legs Jinx, it was the Cruciatus Curse!” Potter roared, looking close to pulling out his own hair. 

A pronounced silence followed his statement. McGonagall’s lips were pursed so tightly they looked like they might just disappear. Madam Pomfrey was fidgeting, brushing imaginary lint off of his bedspread and smoothing it down. Potter still looked like he was going to explode, just waiting for anyone to say the phrase that would set it into motion.

“It wasn’t a Jelly-Legs Jinx,” Draco said, his voice much quieter than he had intended. Of course it hadn’t been a Jelly-Legs Jinx. He had the dark mark on his arm. No one was ever going to let him forget that. He wasn’t the person you hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx for laughs. He was the person you hit with an unforgivable curse in the library for revenge. 

McGonagall sighed again, “Draco,” She began and Draco was startled at her use of his first name, “I would like to punish those boys most seriously, but the use of that curse, the one that Mr. Potter is insinuating they used, would be an offense that would put them in far more serious trouble than you might expect. After the war, the use of any kind of unforgivable curse on a student results in a one-way ticket to Azkaban while a trial is conducted.” 

Draco couldn’t help the flinch that pulled at his body with the mention of Azkaban. He would never forget his own stint on the terrifying island. The Dementors had been quickly relieved of their positions after the war, so at least he hadn’t had to deal with that, but the ghosts of Azkaban walked freely, and their presence certainly offered no comfort. 

“What are you saying? Do you want him to lie?” Potter said, taking a step towards McGonagall before remembering who he was talking to and taking a quick step back. 

“I just want you to be very sure of what happened, Draco,” McGonagall ignored Potter entirely, something that on any other day would have amused Draco immensely. She continued, “I will, of course, accept whatever you say as the truth, as only you can offer me an accurate assessment of what happened. And I can assure you that, whatever happened, your attackers will be punished most severely, whether by the ministry or myself.” 

She rested a quick hand on the corner of his bed closest to her, her gaze meeting his with something that looked remarkably like compassion. Draco was startled to realize he was close to tearing up. It had been a long time since someone other than his mother had believed in him, had valued his safety. 

“It wasn’t a Jelly-Legs Jinx,” he said again, “but it wasn’t the Cruciatus Curse. I don’t know what it was.” 

Potter’s immediate outburst was suddenly silenced with a flick of McGonagall’s wand. Potter clasped a hand to his throat, his mouth moving soundlessly, before turning angrily towards McGonagall. 

“You are here because I wanted your account, Mr. Potter, but do not overstep.” McGonagall turned towards Draco, “Thank you, Draco. I assure you that your attackers will be punished most severely. This will not happen again.” 

With a final pat of her hand at the corner of his bed, she swept out of his curtained confines, Madam Pomfrey fluttering after her. Draco met Potter’s gaze as he stood at the bottom of Draco’s bed, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion. His hand was still clutched to his throat and Draco realized McGonagall hadn’t released her silencing spell. Draco was reaching for his wand where it sat on the bedside table when Potter pulled out his own. Draco couldn’t help but flinch, a movement that he knew Potter caught, before Potter pointed the wand at his own throat and cast the counter-spell nonverbally. 

“What the hell was that?” Potter said, his voice rough. 

“What do you mean?” Draco fiddled with his blanket, oddly uncomfortable. Potter had obviously done something in the library so that the boy who had attacked him had been brought to McGonagall’s attention, and so that Draco wound up in an infirmary bed. And while Potter was certainly known for his do-gooder personality, Draco hadn’t thought that it would still extend to him. 

“What do I-“ Potter’s face grew red and frustrated, “What do I mean? Why didn’t you tell them that it was the Cruciatus Curse? I’m not an idiot, I know the Cruciatus Curse when I see it.” 

“Oh,” Draco said. Of course it was Potter’s constant need for justice to be upheld that was the problem here. Although considering how much Potter had gotten away with over the years Draco figured he would have gotten over that little complex already. “It wasn’t worth it. To say that they had used an unforgivable curse. It’s not worth putting them in Azkaban just for that.”

“Just for that? Malfoy, they attacked you.”

“Potter, if you think the Cruciatus Curse is the worst thing that’s happened to me in the past year, you’re sadly mistaken,” Draco snapped. He felt blood rush to his cheeks, embarrassed by his outburst. He didn’t need anyone pitying him — certainly not Potter. Not that anyone would, as everyone assumed he had been living with a madman of his own volition. 

“No, I know that,” Potter said, his shoulders finally falling from where they had taken up residence around his ears, “That’s why they made the stupid rule. To preserve our educational rights, or whatever. Kingsley, er, Minister Shaklebolt created it for that reason. So that no one would have to worry about getting attacked at school, for anything they did. Or any reason really.” 

“How do you know that?”

Potter shrugged, looking embarrassed, “I helped create it.”

Draco shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew that Potter had spent the summer after the war working tirelessly with the ministry to institute new policies across the country. 

“Uh, it’s a very nice rule,” Draco said, and laughed when he caught the look on Potter’s face. It was weird, interacting with post-war Potter. Almost like they were new acquaintances; like the past couple years of their lives weren’t spent on opposite sides of a war. Like Draco hadn’t tried to kill Potter. He sighed, “Look, your rule is great. It really is. But I’m not sending anyone to Azkaban. I don’t care what they did.”

“They wouldn’t really go to Azkaban. Or, well, not the part that criminals get put in. It’s a different part. Same building, but different treatment. It’s more of a scare tactic for kids that are starting to fall onto the wrong side of the law. That was one of the things that Kingsley and I came up with. As a way to never have another Voldemort situation or something,” Potter shrugged, looking embarrassed again. Draco was starting to wonder if rosy red cheeks were Potter’s constant state of being nowadays. He continued, “But they wouldn’t really have gone to Azkaban, not to the real part.” 

“You mean the part where I was.” The words were out of Draco’s mouth before he thought them through. He didn’t talk about Azkaban, not with anyone. Certainly not with Potter, although if the rumors were true, it was Potter’s voice in Shaklebolt’s ear which had helped get Draco out of the haunted prison. 

“Yeah, they won’t be there.” 

Draco nodded, going back to fiddling with his blankets. “If it happens again, I’ll tell McGonagall.”

“Okay. McGonagall will probably dish out a punishment worse than Azkaban anyways,” Potter said with a forced laugh. Draco forced one of his own, ready for the conversation to be over. “Well, I’ll see you later, I guess.” 

Draco met Potter’s gaze, free of animosity for the first time in seven years, “Thank you.” 

With a nod Potter left, leaving Draco alone in his lumpy bed. He sank back into his pillows, every inch of his body feeling black and blue. It wasn’t, of course. The Cruciatus Curse left no physical marks on the body. But Draco knew he would be feeling the effects for at least a week, even with the help of the salves and spells he knew Madame Pomfrey had already administered. He wondered how long he had been unconscious before the arguing had woken him up. He wondered if Pansy or Blaise had visited him, if they even knew he was in the infirmary. He wondered if Potter had grabbed his finished essay for Charms off of the table in the library after he passed out. He hoped so, that essay had taken him all morning to finish. He didn’t have time to write another one before their class tomorrow, not with all his other schoolwork. And boys with dark marks on their arms weren’t likely to get extensions from anyone, even if they had been knocked unconscious by a Cruciatus Curse.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a week before Draco found himself back in the library. He hadn’t been deliberately avoiding it, of course. But he had also made due with finishing his schoolwork in empty classrooms, or behind the velvet curtains of his bed, with a heavy silencing charm blocking out the chaos that was always happening in the eighth year house.

But eventually, he needed the extensive collection of books the library had to offer. And of course neither Pansy or Blaise had any interest in going with him. Not that company would have saved him from a wayward curse, especially in the company of other post-war outcasts. Instead, he set himself up at a table in the most avoided part of the library — the few tables situated right outside of Madam Pince’s office. He figured it was probably the safest place in the library. Even a whispered hex would be too loud for Madam Pince’s liking.

He was just starting his Transfiguration essay, books open and spread out all around him, when someone sat down across from him. Draco jumped, his quill splattering ink across the parchment. Granger was sitting across from him, her own large stack of books sitting on his table.

  
“Hello,” he said, unsure of how this was going to go. He still hadn’t forgotten the ribbing he had gotten after she had punched him. It had taken months to live that down. The Slytherin house had become a constant theater reenacting the event.

“May I sit here?” She was perched on the corner of her chair, ready to take flight if he said no. He looked at the other empty tables around him and considered the books he would have to close to make room for her.

“Sure.” He pulled a few books away from her side of the table, stacking them on top of others. He probably couldn’t get much safer than with one of the Golden Trio. Although they had certainly attracted their fair share of dangerous situations over the years. No one would want to throw a hex his way, though, in fear that they’d hit Granger.

She nodded and spread her books out across her half of the table, careful not to infringe upon his space. They worked in silence for almost two hours, Draco happy to discover that Granger was the least disruptive study partner he had ever had, before Weasley and Potter showed up.  
“What is this?” Weasley’s voice made both him and Granger jump. Madam Pince came scurrying out of her office and gave Weasley a look that had everyone cringing. He repeated himself in a whisper.

“We’re studying Ron. At least we were until you showed up,” Granger huffed. Draco was a little disgusted to see the look of fondness that filled Weasley’s face as he took in Granger — fingertips covered in ink, hair frizzy and tangled from running her hands through it as she worked. He had forgotten that they were a thing.

“Come on Ron, we can sit at this table over here.” Potter shrugged a shoulder towards the nearest empty table, his arms full of books.  
“But we need ‘Mione. I haven’t written a Transfiguration essay in a year.”

“I’m not going to write it for you.” Granger was very good at huffing. Draco was impressed.

Weasley scoffed, “I know that. I just need some, uh, recommendations. On what to write.”

Potter laughed and Draco hid his smile behind his hand. If someone had told him a year ago that he would have been sitting at a library table with the Golden Trio talking around him, he would have fallen to the floor laughing.

Potter and Weasley wound up at their own table, with Weasley sending charmed paper airplanes flying over to land on Granger’s parchment with regularity. Draco finished his Transfiguration essay and closed all his books, piling them into a precarious stack to carry back to his room.  
Draco stood, his books tucked under his chin, and cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said quietly so that only Granger could hear him. She looked up at him in surprise.

“You’re welcome,” she said just as quietly.

With a nod at Potter and Weasley when they looked up, Draco left. He walked the halls carefully, still wary of curses and hexes. He stopped by the kitchens and let the house elves add a bundle of food to the top of his stack. When he got back to the eighth year house he was happy to find that it was pretty much deserted — a few Hufflepuffs who he didn’t talk to sitting in the large common room. He ignored them and went straight to the room he shared with the Ravenclaw boys who had come back for their eighth year — an unsurprisingly large amount. It was just him and Blaise to represent the Slytherin house males.

Their room was empty — Draco had seen most of his Ravenclaw roommates in the library when he had left, and who knew where Blaise was. Draco climbed into bed. The house elves had packed him a large meal, with his favorite treacle tart included. It had taken a few days and a lot of apologizing to get the house elves to give him anything except bread and cheese. But now they seemed to like him, which was good as he hadn’t eaten a meal in the Great Hall since he had been back in the castle. Settled in for the night, Draco pulled a book from his stack and started to read, munching at his food as he went. He just needed to get through this year. He just needed to ace his NEWTS. Then he could get a job anywhere in the world. And he could convince his mother to come with him wherever he went. And then they could start again. He just needed to get through this year. Preferably without getting hexed again.

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later Draco was back in the dungeon, sitting in front of his cauldron with Potter at his side. McGonogall had apparently praised Slughorn for his inter-house pairings, and now they were stuck in their partnerships for the rest of the year. The whole year. An entire year working with Potter. Which wasn’t the worst thing in the world, really. Draco didn’t have anything against Potter, anymore. He had lost any animosity he harbored when Potter had killed the madman who had been ruining Draco’s life. Everyone’s lives, really. But still, it was hard to drop seven years worth of antagonism in a week.

Pansy had managed to snag the table next to Draco’s in the back of the room, and she complained at a constant rate under breath. Draco tried not to be amused by the petrified look on the face of her Hufflepuff partner.

They were working with Amortentia again, much to Draco’s disappointment. Luckily, they were creating their own counter-potion, which was tricky with Amortentia, as it had to be brewed to cater to each person’s desires. Just as Amortentia smelled differently to everyone, the counter-potion had to be created to counteract those effects.

When Slughorn finally finished lecturing and let them begin, Draco was again the first one at the supply closet. By the time he had gathered up everything he could possibly think they would need and gotten back to the table, Weasley was sitting on it.  
“You’re sitting on my table,” Draco said, nudging a sharp elbow into Weasley’s side until he moved. Draco spread the ingredients out across the table and began to sort them.

“This is so dumb,” Weasley complained, “Why are we even taking this class?”

“Because you want to be Aurors,” Granger said as she passed, her arms overflowing with ingredients, “and they’ll never let you be Aurors without NEWTS in Potions. They don’t care if you defeated Voldemort.”

“They do care, actually. They gave me a medal.” Potter was randomly picking up the ingredients that Draco had laid out, ruining his organizational system.

“Yes, you saved the wizarding world,” Draco grabbed at the jar in Potter’s hand, setting it back where it belonged on the table, “now stop messing with my ingredients or I’ll hex you.”

“Then you would have no one to save you when you get hexed again, Malfoy,” Weasley said, picking up the jar Draco had just taken from Potter. A long silence followed, Granger looked appalled, and Potter’s cheeks were quite pink.

“Yes, well, then at least I won’t have you three hovering around me all the time.” Draco grabbed the jar from Weasley’s hand, “Don’t you have a potion to brew or something?”

Granger jumped about a foot in the air and scurried off to her table in the front of the room. Weasley just sighed dramatically and left, dragging his feet loudly across the stone floor as he went.

“Sorry about that,” Potter mumbled.

“What?”

“I said, sorry about that. What Ron said. He didn’t mean it,” Potter repeated himself.

Draco laughed, “Potter, that hardly counts as an insult. Try living with a bunch of Slytherins for seven years. You develop a pretty tough skin.”

Potter shrugged and went back to fiddling with the jars Draco placed in front of him. Draco ignored him and pulled his textbook from the stack at his feet and flipped through it until he found the page he was looking for. He gave it a quick skim, it had been awhile since he had brewed a counter-potion for Amortentia. And, much to his delight, it was a lot more difficult than brewing a simple love potion was.

“Okay. What do you smell?” Draco turned to Potter.

“What?”

“Smell, Potter. What do you smell?”

“Why do I have to tell you? Can’t we make the counter-potion based on what you smell?” Potter crossed his arms over his chest, and Draco had to stifle the shock he felt at noticing how big Potter’s arms had gotten in the year they had been off fighting on different sides of the same war. Potter had always been a bit of a scrawny git. But defeating a dark lord had apparently done good things for his muscle definition.

“Because I know what I’m doing,” Draco said after giving himself an internal shake. He hadn’t fantasized about Potter in quite a long time–since before he had gotten the godawful tattoo that covered his forearm. Now certainly wasn’t the time to resurrect that little crush.

“I can follow the instructions just as well as you can.” Potter pulled his textbook towards him and began to flip through the pages.

“It’s not just instructions,” Draco said, noticing the tell-tale angry flush that was spreading across Potter’s cheeks. “I have experience doing this. I’ve done this countless times. And I’ll show you what I’m doing and explain all my steps to you. It’ll just be easier for me to explain it if I’m not getting distracted by the potion myself.”

Potter hugged his arms tighter to his chest and Draco definitely did not watch the way his muscles flexed with the movement. With a sudden sigh, Potter let his arms fall, “Fine. I’ll be the damn guinea pig.”

“Alright,” Draco said, “tell me what you smell.”

Potter picked up their beaker of Amortentia and pulled the stopper from the top. He held it to his nose and took a deep, measured breath. Draco watched as the tension in Potter’s shoulders melted away, watched the little smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth, the way his eyes slid shut.

“Treacle tart…” Potter began, taking another deep breath. He continued, “…the smell of a broom after it’s just been polished…and something sort of flowery. Like lavender. Or jasmine.”

Potter’s eyes fluttered open. Draco realized he had been staring as the tension pulled Potter’s shoulders back up around his ears. “Good,” Draco said, “that’s good.”

“So what do we do now?” Potter asked.

“Now we isolate the components of the potion that could be creating those scents for you, both in terms of physical and magical properties.”  
“Uh, okay. How do we do that?”

“I’m going to show you,” Draco said with a smile. Potter gave a startled smile in return and then they set to work.

An hour later, they had brewed an almost perfect counter-potion to Amortentia. According to Potter, there was still a lingering scent of jasmine, but Draco was at a loss for how to counter whatever magical properties were creating it. And compared to the rest of the class, their counter-potion was masterful.

Pansy had abandoned her partner halfway through the class and, when Draco wouldn’t pay her nagging any attention, had gone off to bother Blaise. Weasley had started bothering Granger for help ten minutes into the class, only to stop when Granger suddenly exploded, yelling at him to do his own work for once. Potter had abandoned Draco for a few minutes after that in an effort to calm them both down. Draco had been surprised when Granger had struggled with creating the counter-potion, but Draco supposed, if the rumors were true, Granger had spent the past year apparating around the country at Potter’s side. Whereas Draco had been trapped in his house with a madman and had spent most of his time hiding with one of his old school books, dreaming of the life he had lived before his family’s loyalty had led to their downfall.

When Slughorn finally called an end to the class, Draco and Potter were the only ones who escaped without homework–having been the only ones to correctly brew the counter-potion. Granger grabbed Potter’s arm in a vice-like grip as soon as Slughorn let them go and Draco could hear her interrogating Potter about their potion as Weasley trotted along behind them.

“Looks like a year with the Dark Lord didn’t lessen your aptitude for potions, hmm?” Pansy appeared next to him as Draco gathered up his books.

“He lived in my house for longer than a year,” Draco said instead of answering her question. He didn’t really feel like sharing that he read and re-read his textbooks over and over in an effort to pretend his life wasn’t as miserable as it had been.

“Yes, yes. Boo hoo, poor you,” she replied, slipping an arm through his to rest her hand at his elbow. They strolled out of the room, and Draco was amused to hear Blaise trotting along behind them. He had his own trio. He didn’t need the attention of the Golden threesome. No matter how much he had liked it in the past, particularly the attention of a certain bespectacled git.

“Give him a break, Pans,” Blaise interjected, “Everyone knows he was the Dark Lord’s primary potions master. Merlin knows, the nose-less psychopath must’ve been drinking straight troll’s piss to look as bad as he did. Draco was his troll-piss brewer. Obviously.”

There was a pregnant pause before they cracked up. They were still getting used to their newfound freedom to insult the madman who had ruined all of their lives.

“Or I’m just naturally much smarter than all your cretins,” Draco said.

“Hardly,” Pansy scoffed. She opened her mouth, as if to say something else, and then closed it with a snap.

Draco laughed, “You can’t think of anything, can you? I’m better than you in every subject.”

“At least he’s modest,” Blaise grumbled to Pansy. Pansy pulled her arm from Draco’s and gave him a sharp pinch in the side before letting Blaise escort her down the hall. They were headed to an empty classroom on the third floor. It had become their de facto studying space, where they could do their schoolwork without worrying about the constant glares and angry whispers that followed them everywhere else in the castle. And, aside from his odd social encounters with the Golden Trio, it was the safest place Draco could think of to keep from getting hexed again.

After checking to make sure their room was clear, Draco held the heavy door for Pansy and Blaise, laughing at the way they strolled through the doorway as if into a ballroom. Draco was still laughing when he heard the sound at the end of the corridor and turned. The laughter died in his throat as he saw a figure dressed entirely in black, their face obscured by a badly done disillusionment charm, with a wand pointed straight at his chest. The books in his arms tumbled to the floor and he turned as a jet of light shot from the figure’s wand. Draco’s body, frozen against his will, fell to the floor. He heard Pansy and Blaise yell, heard their footsteps as they raced towards him before everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco awoke to the annoyingly familiar sight of infirmary curtains pulled around his bed. He groaned and sat up. Hexed, again. He heard bustling footsteps on the stone floor and then his curtain was tugged back to admit Madam Pomfrey, McGongall right on her tail. 

“Good, you’re awake.” Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over his body. “Do you remember what happened? Why you’re in the infirmary?” 

“Yeah, some bloke in black hexed me. Again.” Draco grumbled. His body didn’t hurt quite as bad this time. A few bumps and bruises from where he had hit the floor. But he could deal with that. 

“Correct, Mr. Malfoy. You were hexed in a third-floor corridor,” McGonagall said. Draco looked at her and barely managed not to flinch. The headmaster looked livid. Draco hadn’t seen her that angry since he had been caught out of bed as a first year. 

“Uh, Pansy, Blaise, and I study there. In an empty classroom,” Draco explained. He couldn’t tell if she was mad at him or at whoever had attacked him. He didn’t think he had done anything wrong, but three eighth-year Slytherins in an abandoned corridor of the castle were sure to arouse suspicion with the strength of post-war prejudice. 

“Of course you were,” McGonagall snapped. She took a deep breath and Draco watched as she gained her composure. “Did you recognize who attacked you?” She asked in a much calmer voice. 

“No. He had a disillusionment charm on his face. Poorly done, but I couldn’t see his features.” 

“You’re sure it was a male?” 

“Minerva, this boy needs to rest,” Madam Pomfrey interrupted, “you can interrogate him later.”

“Yes, I’m sure it was a boy. I don’t know why. I couldn’t see his face. But I’m sure,” Draco answered McGonagall’s question. “And I’m feeling fine,” he said to Madam Pomfrey. 

“Thank you, Draco,” McGonagall said, “And I must offer you my sincerest apologies that something like this happened again.”

“Do you think it could have been the same person?” Draco asked. He hadn’t seen the boy who had cursed him in the library around the castle, but Draco also hadn’t focused much on the boy’s face once he had noticed his wand. 

McGonagall sighed, “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the young man who attacked you last time was with me, serving one of many detentions when this most recent attack occurred. So, no. It was not the same boy.” 

Draco watched McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey share a worried look. He was surprised to feel a bit bashful at their concern. It had been a long time since someone other than his parents or Snape had looked out for him. And this was the second time that he had wound up in the infirmary with the headmistress of Hogwarts fretting over him.

“Alright, that’s enough. Mr. Malfoy needs to rest. You’ll be spending the night in the infirmary, young man. I want to keep my eye on you.” Madam Pomfrey said, tugging at the bedclothes so that they were tucked tight around him. Draco blushed but made no fuss. 

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow morning, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall began, “as I’m sure you’ll be well enough for Transfiguration.” 

“Yes, Headmistress.” Draco smiled. He wouldn’t dare miss Transfiguration — it was McGonagall’s only class with her duties as Headmistress, and she taught only the eighth years.

McGonagall nodded and pulled the curtains aside to leave. Madam Pomfrey followed her out. Draco sighed, settling back into his pillows. He wondered where Pansy and Blaise were, and if they were okay. He figured McGonagall or Pomfrey would have mentioned if either of them had been attacked, too. 

He grabbed his wand from where it sat on his bedside table and took a second to find a happy memory. With a quick wave, a sleek cat erupted from his wand and meandered out of the room with a message for Pansy. A minute later a bright raven fluttered down to land on his bed and opened it’s mouth, “We’re both fine. More than a little pissed off that you got hexed AGAIN. But we’re fine. We didn’t see the person who did it. McGonagall already asked us.” 

The raven dissipated to wisps of bright smoke as Pansy’s voice finished speaking. That was good. He was glad Pansy and Blaise were okay. They weren’t as hated as Draco was since their families hadn’t been involved with the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, but Pansy had been prepared to offer Potter to the madman when provoked, so she wasn’t high on the list of well-liked people in the castle either. And Blaise was a bit of an asshole, so he was always a likely candidate to be hexed. 

Draco couldn’t see anything of the infirmary besides the contents of his curtained room and was surprised when the footsteps scuffing across the floor came closer and closer, finally stopping just outside of his curtained confines. The curtains didn’t quite reach the floor and he watched the soles of two shoes shuffle back and forth. 

“Yes?” Draco asked, wondering who was there. 

“Oh,” a voice said, and Draco was surprised to recognize it as Potter’s. Potter pulled the curtains aside and stepped into Draco’s makeshift room, sliding the curtains closed again behind him. This left Potter standing right up against the footboard of Draco’s bed, as the curtains didn’t provide much room for visitors. 

“Hello,” Draco said.

“Hi. Uh, I just wanted to check on you. See how you’re doing.” Potter had his hands stuffed deep into his robe pockets and Draco could see him fidgeting. 

“How did you know I was here?” 

“Uh, I heard McGonagall talking. Er, well. I asked her. I saw her talking to Parkinson and Zambini.”

“You asked McGonagall about me? And she willingly gave you information?” 

“Yeah, I guess she probably shouldn’t have. I don’t know why she did. I think she’s worried,” Potter looked stricken, “Which I’m sure isn’t about you. It’s not like this’ll keep happening.”

“Potter, I’ve been hexed twice and we’ve been back at school for a month.”

“Hexed once,” Potter said, not meeting Draco’s eyes, “you were cursed the other time.” 

“Yes, yes. Semantics.” 

“It’s not — it’s not just semantics.” 

“Well, actually, it is. The difference between Locomotor Wimbly and Cruciatus is really just semantics.” 

“Whatever,” Potter was beginning to look frustrated, “you know what I’m saying.” 

“I do. But don’t worry your little head, oh Chosen One, I’m sure I’ll be safe and sound for the rest of the year.” Draco could feel himself getting snarkier. Putting up walls. The Savior of the Wizarding World wasn’t supposed to care about what happened to a former Death Eater. 

“Don’t mock me. You’re not safe.”

“Weren’t you just trying to convince me that I have nothing to worry about, that McGonagall isn’t at all worried about why people keep hexing me.” 

“Well, maybe it’s both.” Potter was very annoyed. Draco wanted to laugh but he imagined it wouldn’t help Potter’s grumpy eyebrows much. It was a good thing he hadn’t been in Slytherin. Sarcasm and snark were practically the currency in the house under the lake. 

“It can’t be both, you goon. They’re opposing statements.”

“Well fine.” Potter whipped his hands from his pockets, throwing them up above his head in a show of dramatics that Draco wouldn’t have expected from the Golden Boy. “So you’re not safe. People are still holding grudges for what happened and they’re trying to take them out on you.” 

“They should be holding grudges. For what happened. I don’t blame them.” Draco couldn’t look at Potter as he said this. He wasn’t even sure where the words had come from. 

“No. They shouldn’t. The war is over. Terrible things happened. To both sides. Punishment for crimes that occurred needs to be left to the Ministry. And they already cleared you of all charges. It’s not up to disgruntled students to take matters into their own hands.”

Draco laughed, “Says the boy who spent seven years here doing exactly that.” 

Potter had the good grace to blush, and Draco laughed again, a big belly laugh that hadn’t rumbled up his throat in years. Potter continued to blush a bright red, but soon he was laughing too. By the time they stopped, they were both brushing tears from their eyes and Draco’s stomach was sore. 

Potter grinned at him, his eyes bright behind his smudgy glasses. “You may have a point.” 

“I know I do.” 

“I do, too, you know.” Potter dragged the conversation back into the uncomfortable territory Draco had been hoping they had left behind. 

“You’re not safe. People are going to keep trying to attack you. You’re the closest person available to blame.”

“I know that, Potter. What am I supposed to do?” Draco huffed, “I’m not going to leave.”

“No,” Potter said, a little forcefully, “I don’t think you should do that. Just, I don’t know, be careful.”

“Don’t you think I’m trying?” 

“Just, maybe, hang around people who can keep you a little safer, you know?”

“I know how to protect myself,” Draco spat.

“I know.” Potter had his hands up, placating, “I know that. I don’t mean people who can protect you physically. Just, maybe, people who make it so you’re less likely to be attacked.”

“So not Pansy and Blaise, you mean.” 

“Just maybe not all the time. Or them, but other people, too.”

“Potter, you said it yourself–I’m the closest person to blame. Who do you think is going to volunteer to be my bodyguard?”

“Well, um, I guess I was going to.” Potter blushed bright red, and Draco watched in stupefied silence as the flush spread across his neck and up to his hairline. Draco had a silly urge to pinch himself. Had Harry Potter — Savior of the Wizarding World, Golden Boy Extraordinaire — really just volunteered to be his pseudo-bodyguard? 

“And what would you do as my bodyguard?” Draco asked with a laugh, once he finally managed to get his mouth working. 

“I don’t know,” Potter shifted back and forth, his hands fraying the edges of his robes, “Walk with you to class? We take almost all the same classes, and the ones we don’t have together Hermione has with you.”

“Oh, so I get Granger as a bodyguard as well? Two-thirds of the Golden Trio. Aren’t I a lucky boy?”

Potter’s eyebrows were going to be permanently stuck pinched together at this rate. “What? We’re not the Golden Trio. That’s dumb.”

Draco laughed, quick and short, “Uh, yeah you are. Everyone calls you guys that. Didn’t you see any of the headlines after you killed—after the war ended?”

“No. I didn’t look at them.” Potter looked troubled, “No one calls us that.” 

“They do. But we can agree to disagree.” Draco stretched his arms above his head and faked a yawn, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m ready for a little nap.” 

“Oh, uh, alright.” Potter backed into the curtains and pulled them aside, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, before Transfiguration. I’ll meet you here, so don’t go anywhere without me.” 

“What? No,” Draco dropped his tired act, “you’re not my bodyguard. I’m fine.”

“Draco,” Potter said, and they both startled at his use of Draco’s first name. After an awkward moment, Potter continued, “you’re in a hospital bed right now. You’re obviously not fine.” 

“But I will be,” Draco said.

“Yeah, and wouldn’t it be nice if you could stay that way?” Potter said, his voice loud. He sighed, “Look, I’m going to be here tomorrow to walk with you to class whether you like it or not. And if you’re not here when I get here then I’ll just come find you. So do us both a favor and just be here when I come tomorrow.”

“That sounded remarkably like a threat, Potter. What would the press say? Golden Boy threatening poor, injured classmate.” Draco teased. Potter groaned and threaded his fingers through his hair, pulling at the messy strands. “Ok, fine. I’ll be here. Don’t go pulling your hair out.”   
Potter let out a long, slow breath, “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Draco watched Potter leave, and could feel the blood heating his cheeks. How absurd. To be blushing. Over Potter. Of all people. Draco grabbed his wand from his bedside table and cast a quick silencing charm. With that done he let out a long, embarrassed groan. It was like he was a first year again, fawning just like everyone else over the famous Harry Potter. 

Now, of course, Draco recognized the feeling as attraction, whereas before he had called it envy. He had known since before he came to Hogwarts that he was attracted to boys. Had told his mother the summer before coming to school. But knowing that he wasn’t attracted to girls was different than desiring the Savior of the Wizarding World. Draco hadn’t yet told his mother that little bit of news. Hopefully, he never would.

He had assumed it would just go away, after realizing how he felt about the stupid git in fifth year. And it had, a bit, in the past couple years. It was hard to have any time for attraction and fantasizing when there was a psychopathic madman living in your house and inducting you into his gang of petrified followers. But here it was, back again. And now he would be spending more time with Potter than he ever had before — as long as Potter kept up his weird stint as Draco’s personal bodyguard. Which didn’t bode well for his infatuation. 

With a sigh, Draco slumped back against his pillows. Maybe spending time with Potter would help. Maybe he was an arrogant git who Draco would hate as much as he had always pretended to. Or maybe there was a reason the Witch Weekly had featured him on their cover for six months straight after the war.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco woke up to sunlight streaming in through the large windows. He sat up and grabbed his wand and cast a quick spell to see what time it was. He had always been an early riser and wasn’t surprised to see that he had a couple hours before his first class. That should give him just enough time to get down to the kitchens to get some breakfast, finish his Transfiguration homework that he hadn’t the night before, and get back to the infirmary so that Potter could live out his savior complex and walk Draco to class.

He was halfway to the infirmary doors when an angry voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Mr. Malfoy. I know that you are not trying to sneak out of my infirmary without getting released.” Madam Pomfrey’s usually calm and quiet voice rang through the room. A startled noise emerged from the curtained bed closest to him, and he cringed. So much for keeping his infirmary visit a secret.

He spun around, “No, of course not.”

“Well, it certainly seems like you are.”

“Come on, Madam Pomfrey,” Draco said, with a tad bit more whine than he had intended, “I feel fine. I have a transfiguration essay to finish, and I haven’t eaten anything in over 24 hours.”

“You will not leave this infirmary without my knowledge, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Well, now you know!”

“Sit down,” she said, conjuring up a chair with a wave of her wand. Draco sat. He let her wave his wand over him, felt the weird and intrusive stirrings of magic inside of him as she checked his health. After a few minutes, she tucked her wand back into her apron. “Fine. You are free to go.” She spun on her heel back towards her office, and Draco called out his thanks just as the chair disappeared from beneath him. He fell to the floor with an indignant squawk.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour and a half later, he had eaten, finished his Transfiguration essay and most of his Charms homework for the next day, and was on his way back to the infirmary. He would have just enough time to climb back into his bed and pretend like he never left. He should get a medal for inter-house unity or something. He was being so kind to the poor little Gryffindors who wanted to protect him. One Gryffindor in particular.  
Draco was halfway through the infirmary door when a voice made him jump.

“I wasn’t aware that the infirmary also included the rest of the castle.” Potter’s voice was loud in the stone hallway. He was wearing his grumpy eyebrows again.

“Merlin, Potter. You scared me.” Draco faced him, trying to squash any guilty stirrings. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was free to go where he pleased.

“You promised.”

“What?”

“That you would let me walk you to class.”

“Well, technically, I am. See, here I am,” Draco waved a hand over his body, and felt a hot flush when Potter’s eyes followed his hand, “ready and willing, er, to go to class.”

“You weren’t supposed to go anywhere without me.” Potter threw his hands up, and Draco suppressed a laugh. Quite dramatic, this Savior of the Wizarding World.

“Well, that might get a little uncomfortable. There are some things I like to do alone.” Draco smirked.

“No,” Potter’s cheeks filled with heat, and Draco was glad that he was no longer the only one blushing. Who knew that civil conversation with Potter would be so embarrassing. “Not everywhere. Just to class. In the halls. You’ve been hexed twice. By different people. Don’t you think that’s a problem?”

“Yes, I know it’s a problem,” Draco snapped, “Look, I appreciate you wanting to help, but you’re not going to be able to escort me everywhere for the rest of the year. At some point, I am going to be on my own. And if I get hexed, well then so be it.”

“Do you want to be hexed?” Potter took a step back, his grumpy eyebrows leaping up his forehead in surprise. “Is it some sort of punishment thing?”

“What? No. Merlin, Potter, why would I want to be hexed?”

“I don’t know.” He ran a rough hand through his dark hair. “You just don’t seem very concerned.”

“Of course I’m concerned, but I’m not a hot-headed Gryffindor, so I don’t see the need to announce my anger to everyone who passes by.”

“What, so you’re just going to slink around corners and spend the next year looking over your shoulder, waiting to be hexed?”

“I’ve done it before, Potter. I can do it again. I don’t need your protection. You don’t have to save me.”

“I’m not trying to save you.”

“Yeah, right. You have a savior complex as deep as the Black Lake.”

“I do not.”

“You do. And now that all your friends don’t need saving from the Dark Lord you have to find someone else to save.”

“I wasn’t just saving my friends.”

“Yes, Potter. We all know. You saved the Wizarding World. I think Witch Weekly may have written an article or two about it.”

“It’s not like I had a choice. You did. And it’s not my fault that you chose the wrong side.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, Potter. It’s crossed my mind a time or two. And I didn’t choose anything. My role in the war was as set from birth as yours was. I’m sorry I don’t have a scar and a prophecy to prove it.”

They were both breathing hard, and Draco’s voice echoed in the cavernous hallway. There was less than a foot of space between them and they both jumped back as the Infirmary door swung open.

“Oh good, are you done screaming at each other?” Madam Pomfrey said, “Well thank Merlin for that. Now would you both kindly get to class and leave my patients to their rest.”

“Sorry,” Potter muttered as the door swung shut with a bang. Draco glared at him and Potter returned the angry stare. After a few tense seconds Potter spun on his heel and set off down the hallway. With a frustrated sigh, Draco went in the opposite direction. It was the long way, and it meant he would probably be a few minutes late to Transfiguration, but he wasn’t going to follow Potter’s angry stride through the whole castle.


	6. Chapter 6

The day passed in a blur, and Draco was in a rush to catch up on work that he had neglected while in the infirmary. McGonagall hadn’t been kidding when she had told them that their eighth year was going to be harder than they imagined. There was a small minority of students who had been at Hogwarts for their seventh year, but hadn’t managed to take their NEWTS, or hadn’t been allowed by the ministry in Draco’s case, and had to come back for an eighth year. Most of the other students had taken their seventh year off — pulled out of school by frightened families, gone into hiding, tracking down the Dark Lord. Draco had assumed that nothing could be harder than seventh year, with the Carrows and the constant threat of the Dark Lord murdering his parents hanging over his head. Or sixth year, when he had been juggling school and assassination plots. But eighth year was harder than both—not nearly as frightening—but more work than Draco was used to. 

Pansy sat next to him at their table in Charms and furiously scribbled at her parchment, trying to catch everything that Professor Flitwick was saying. Draco wasn’t paying attention. He had spent the first half of the class glaring at the back of Potter’s head and then had transitioned to glaring three feet above Potter’s head to be less obvious. They were talking about levitation, or transportation or something vaguely similar, and he was hoping they would start practicing soon so that he could levitate something heavy into Potter’s head. 

The class ended with a disappointing lack of levitation practice, and Draco shuffled out after Pansy and Blaise. Pansy caught his arm as he turned to walk away from them.

“No way, mister. You don’t get off that easy. What’s going on in that blindingly blond head of yours?” She said, her claw-like nails digging into his arm. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You spent the entire class shooting daggers at Potter. That’s bad, even for you.”

“What do you mean even for me?” 

Blaise laughed, “You’ve only been in love with the bloke from the moment you hit puberty.” 

“What,” Draco said and felt the bottom of his stomach drop. 

“Stop it, Blaise. Look at his face,” Pansy cooed, “We were pretending like we didn’t know, darling, but we’ve known for years.”

Draco was taking short, sharp breaths. He hadn’t even known he was interested in Potter in that way until his sixth year. How could they possibly know? And who else knew?

“Draco,” Pansy pulled hard on his arm, forcing him to a stop in an empty alcove, “Draco, listen to me. We don’t care. We’ve never cared. And only Blaise, Vincent, Greg, and I knew. That’s all.” 

“How?” Draco said, still feeling like the world was spinning around him. He was a Malfoy, former family of Death Eaters, cowardly traitors. What was he doing crushing on the Savior of the Wizarding World?

“I mean, it was a little obvious. You hated him from the moment we started at Hogwarts. And somewhere along the way your interest seemed more…intense…then it had been when we were a bit younger.”

They walked the rest of the way to their common room in silence. Draco was lost in half-terrified, half-relieved daze. Pansy kept giving him quick little glances — worrying about him, but with the nonchalant grace of someone raised in the cold, dignified manner of an old Pure-blood family. Blaise spent the winding walk blatantly checking out everyone over the age of sixteen who they passed.

The common room was busy when they arrived–the motley assortment of eighth years all finishing up classes at the same time. Draco usually tried to avoid the common room right after classes let out. He didn’t want to face the awkward silences and dark looks that happened when he walked into the room. He had experienced enough of that within the first week back. 

Luckily, no one gave them a second glance as they made their way to an empty table, tucked away in a corner. Draco sorted his books in order of what was due the soonest and unrolled a foot of parchment on the table in front of him. 

“So, Harry Potter,” Blaise drawled. Draco and Pansy shushed him, Draco with a furtive glance around the room.

“Don’t be an ass, Blaise.” Pansy gave Draco’s arm a consoling pat. 

“Hey, you love my ass.” Blaise leered at Pansy and Draco was surprised to see her blush. When had that started happening? 

“Anyways, it’s alright, you know,” Pansy said, turning to Draco, “We love you. Even if you love a smelly Gryffindor.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Draco whispered furiously, appalled that they were having this conversation in the common room. 

“Why not?” Blaise asked. He was lounging against his stack of books, using them as an arm rest as he stared at where Potter was sitting with Granger and Weasley across the room. Weasley looked up and Draco watched in horror as Blaise winked at him. Draco watched Weasley snort out a laugh and turn back to talk to Granger. 

What was the world coming to? Pansy and Blaise knew he had a crush on Harry Potter. Pansy had blushed when Blaise flirted with her. And Weasley hadn’t stormed across the room threatening violence when Blaise had flirted with him.

“But really,” Blaise said, turning back towards to their table, “there’s a reason Potter was on the cover of Witch Weekly for six months. And it’s not just because he killed a bald lunatic.” 

“I’m not in love with him,” Draco repeated. Blaise gave him a skeptical look and Pansy started patting his arm again. 

“What did you two fight about?” Pansy asked. 

“What? How did you know we had a fight?”

“Because for the past couple weeks you’ve been looking at him with hearts in your eyes, but today you looked like you wanted to kill him.”   
Draco sighed, “He wants to protect me.”

“From what?” Blaise said, “He already killed the madman living in your house.” 

“From people trying to hex me.” 

“What?” Blaise sat up, “I thought we were your protection. I was practicing my rights speech.” 

“Your what?” Pansy asked.

“You know, that speech that Muggles give when they arrest someone.” 

“You’ve been watching too much American television,” Pansy said.

“Anyways, I thought we were your bodyguards,” Blaise said, ignoring the snort of laughter from Pansy. 

“Well it’s not like that worked particularly well the last time,” Draco said, “I was with you guys.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t ready,” Blaise said.

“What? Do you think someone’s just going to wait for you to get into position in front of Draco before they shoot off a hex?” Pansy laughed.

“Well, that would certainly be the polite thing to do.”

“Why would I pick you two to be my bodyguards? Behind me, you two are the next most likely to be hexed.”

“Oh, dear,” Blaise said, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I secured my fate when I offered Potter up to the Dark Lord.” Pansy turned towards Draco, “That’s actually why I’ve been spending so much time with you. You’re the only one in this school more hated than I am, so as long as we’re together they’ll fire off a hex at you and content themselves with glaring menacingly at me.”

“Thanks, Pans. Your support means a lot to me,” Draco said. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“So,” Draco pulled his stack of books closer, “have you finished your Potions homework yet?”

“No, of course not. And now that you’re done laying around for days you can help me finish it.”

“It wasn’t even a full day,” Draco said, pleased that the conversation had drifted far, far away from Potter, “but, yes, I’ll help you with your Potions homework.” 

They worked for the next couple hours, the buzz in the common room dying down as people wandered down to dinner. Eventually, Pansy sent Blaise down the the Great Hall — Pansy shared Draco’s dislike of encountering the entire school body at once–and he came back with a small feast that they crammed into the empty spaces between their books and parchment.

By midnight Draco and Pansy had finished all of their schoolwork and helped nudge Blaise into completing all of his. Blaise and Pansy had started up a game of exploding snap while Draco scrawled out a quick letter to his mother to send in the morning. 

The common room was almost completely deserted, except for another trio who sat in the opposite corner of the room. Pansy and Blaise hadn’t seemed to notice that it was Potter and his sidekicks and Draco was hoping to keep it that way. Merlin knows what sort of embarrassment Pansy and Blaise could cook up with the other’s encouragement. 

“Well, I’m headed to bed,” Draco said, exaggerating a yawn, “I’ll see you both tomorrow morning.” 

“Goodnight, Draco.” Pansy and Blaise said in sync, both of them too focused on their game to look up. 

Draco slipped through the door off of the common room that led to the boy’s dormitories and startled when a voice spoke behind him.  
“Malfoy,” Potter said. They were alone in the little hallway and Draco was mortified at the way his heart jumped into his throat. 

“Potter,” Draco replied. 

“I just wanted to apologize for earlier.” 

“Okay,” Draco said. 

“Okay.” 

“Fine, I guess I do, too,” Draco huffed. 

“You guess that you want to apologize? Isn’t that something you’re supposed to decide one way or the other before doing it?” It took Draco a second to realize that Potter was teasing him. 

“Yes. I want to apologize. Not that I was wrong. You do have a savior complex. But it’s understandable, really.”

Potter laughed, “Thanks, Draco. That’s probably the best apology I’ve ever received.” 

“Well,” Draco said, more than a little uncomfortable with all of this, “now it’s your turn.” 

Potter took a deep breath and dropped his teasing grin. Draco watched his chest rise and fall and tried not to be too obvious in his staring. What was it about the stupid git that left him feeling like an out-of-step first year? He was a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake. He was practically a professional at hiding his discomfort. Except when it came to Potter, it seemed. 

“I’m sorry,” Potter began, “I shouldn’t have suggested that you don’t know how to protect yourself. And I shouldn’t have gotten, er, huffy when you left the infirmary without me.” 

“Apology accepted.” 

Potter grinned, “See. That’s what an apology is supposed to sound like.”

“What are you talking about? We practically said the exact same thing,” Draco grumbled. 

Potter laughed, loud and bright, and Draco couldn’t help but grin. Who knew that making Potter laugh was even better than infuriating him?   
“You can walk me to class tomorrow,” Draco said, “fulfill your little savior complex.” 

“Yeah?” Potter said, and it was Draco’s turn to laugh at how pleased Potter looked. 

“Yeah,” Draco couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off his face. But it was fine because Potter was wearing one, too. Maybe they were flirting. Draco couldn’t tell. It had been a long time since he had flirted with anyone. 

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll meet you in the common room?” Potter asked, taking little steps backward.

“Yeah. I’ll see you there.” Draco turned and walked the rest of the way down the hallway, his whole body too hot with the blood that was rushing to the surface.


	7. Chapter 7

Draco was sitting in the common room, feeling stupid, when Potter came through the door that led to the rest of the castle.

“Been somewhere?” Draco muttered as Potter sat down across from him, “What a life you live, being able to walk freely around the castle. I wonder what that’s like.”

“I was at breakfast,” Potter said, pulling a plate from beneath the folds of his robe. It was piled high with a jumble of eggs, sausage, and potatoes, kept from spilling by some sort of containment charm.

“What, you didn’t get enough to eat at the endless buffet?”

“No, this is for you.”

“What?”

“Breakfast. For you. If you want it?” Potter set the plate down on the table between them, releasing the containment charm with a wave of his wand. “It got a little jumbled up. I tried to contain each food to it’s own place on the plate, but I couldn’t figure out how.”

“You brought me breakfast?”

“Uh, yeah,” Potter was fiddling with the hems of his robes, “you’re never in the Great Hall, so I figured you don’t like to go in there.”

“I don’t. I usually go down the the kitchens.”

“Yeah, I do that a lot, too.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, pulling the plate towards him. Potter grinned as Draco began to eat and Draco tried hard not to laugh. It wasn’t hard to keep Potter happy.

A few stragglers rushed through the common room to grab their own breakfasts or finish a few last scribbles on parchment, but no one gave them a second glance. Draco finished in a rush, knowing they didn’t have much time before their first class. He vanished his empty plate, picturing the stack of dirty dishes that he had seen before in the kitchen and hoping he didn’t startle the house elves too badly.

Gathering up his books, he and Potter left the common room. They walked through the halls in silence, and Draco was surprised by how comfortable it was. They weren’t bickering, weren’t insulting each other. Their sixth-year selves would have been flabbergasted.

“So,” Draco said, his mouth moving before his brain could catch up, “where’s your ginger girlfriend?”

Harry looked at him, and Draco barely kept himself from cringing. He was an idiot. Why had he asked that, of all things?

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Harry said, after a long awkward moment.

“Oh,” Draco said, as Harry’s shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was for the best, and all.”

“Is that why she’s not back this year?”

Harry shook his head, “She took her NEWTS over the summer.”

“Ah, that certainly would have been convenient.”

“Right,” Harry scoffed, “I was too busy being the ministry’s mascot.

“Lucky you,” Draco said, giving Harry what he hoped was a friendly shove, “I was busy being the ministry’s scape goat.”

Harry smiled and Draco tried hard not to panic. It was one thing to be attracted to Boy Wonder when he had a beautiful girlfriend waiting in the wings. It was another to know that Boy Wonder was a free man. A likely heterosexual free man, but free nonetheless.

“We just didn’t want the same things,” Harry said after a pause, and it took Draco a few seconds to realize he was talking about the Weasel girl.  
“Oh, yeah,” Draco said, “I guess that’s a good reason to break up.”

Harry nodded, “She wanted to experiment with women.”

“Ah,” Draco said. Harry’s cheeks were glowing red and Draco wondered why Harry was telling him, of all people. “I’m sorry.” Draco said, when he realized Harry was probably waiting for a reply.

“It’s okay. I was upset at first, but I think it helped me realize that maybe I wanted to experiment, too.”

“Ah,” Draco said again, and put every effort into keeping his face blank. Was Harry Potter — Boy Wonder, Savior of the Wizarding World, Witch Weekly’s Hottest Wizard for the rest of eternity — really insinuating that he was bisexual?

“With guys, I mean,” Harry said, giving Draco a flushed look he had no idea how to interpret.

“Ah,” Draco said. Harry nodded and they walked the rest of the way to class in silence. The blush had faded from Harry’s cheeks by the time they reached their classroom, but Draco felt like he was stuck on one of those god-awful muggle contraptions that flung you about on a bumpy, upside-down train ride. Harry Potter was interested in men. Draco was interested in Harry Potter. And men, but mostly Harry Potter. With a groan he slumped into the empty chair next to Pansy and let his head fall against the table in front of him. How was he supposed to manage his crush on Harry now?

 

* * *

 

 

Soon September came to an end and then October, and before Draco knew it, November was coming to a close. He was busier than he had ever been in his entire life. He spend almost all of his time in the library — with the Golden Trio joining him, Pansy, and Blaise to study. Draco wasn’t sure when that had happened. Potter had one day sat down next to Draco — following him to the library after escorting him to and from class all day. And Granger had sat down next to Draco one evening to study for their Arithmancy class, which no one else was taking. And eventually Ron had joined their table as well, likely missing the “help” Granger gave him. Every now and then, while they all diligently worked under the watchful eyes of Madam Pince, Draco would meet Pansy’s gaze and they would share a dumbfounded grin. How they had managed to adopt three Gryffindor’s into their inner circle, he had no idea. How they all managed not to kill each other was another mystery. But surprisingly, they got along quite well. Pansy’s sarcastic humor always had Weasley cracking up, and she appreciated the audience. Blaise and Potter spent an odd amount of time spilling secrets to each other, achieving a level of close friendship with alarming speed. And Draco had become so in sync with Granger that he often knew what she was thinking without her saying a word.

Most surprising of all was how well Draco and Potter got along. Considering the years they had spent at each other’s throats, Draco had been shocked to look up from his studying one day to realize that Potter had become something close to a friend. They spent almost all of their time together between Potter’s continued insistence on escorting Draco to every class, and their odd merging of friend groups. Their cast of characters varied somewhat, with Pansy having made friends with the seventh year Slytherins that practically drooled over her, or Blaise running off the have sex in odd corners of the castle with his many “friends”. And every now and then Weasley and Granger would disappear for a few hours, coming back flushed and with a hilariously terrible excuse for their absence. But Draco and Potter seemed to always be at the center of their odd group of cohorts. They went to class together, they studied together, they ate their dinners together in the kitchen as Potter picked up Draco’s aversion to the stares that followed them through the Great Hall. Soon Draco was spending all his time playing Wizard’s Chess in their common room with Weasley as Pansy insulted their every move, or poring over a rare book with Granger, or just sitting around the common room fire laughing with Potter and Blaise. Most surprisingly, somewhere along the way Potter, Weasley, and Granger became Harry, Ron, and Hermione.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy things ahead! Sexy things of the very explicit variety. Consider yourself warned!

It was a Friday evening when Pansy pulled him away from the rest of the group, slowing their steps to a crawl as they headed towards the kitchen for dinner.

“So, Draco,” she said, once they were far enough away from where Ron and Blaise were doubled over in laughter not to be heard, “when are you going to make a move?”

“What are you talking about?” Draco said.

“Harry Potter. Boy Wonder. Git you’ve been in love with since we stepped foot into this castle.”

“Shhhh,” Draco hissed, pulling Pansy to a stop, “I’m not in love with him.”

Pansy laughed, “Yes, great joke. But really. When are you going to do something? You two are driving us all mad with the sexual tension.”

“What? There’s no tension,” Draco scoffed. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, he’s not into me. I’m a Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. The Savior of the Wizarding World doesn’t fall for a Malfoy.”

“Oh, Draco. You know Harry doesn’t judge you for your past.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s in love with me, Pans,” Draco said, his good mood for the day disappearing, “Just drop it. Please.”

“Alright,” Pansy said, sneaking her arm around his waist for a quick squeeze, “But just consider the idea that you’re not alone in your feelings.”

Draco nodded, anxious to have the subject dropped.

Potter’s head popped around the corner, “Hey, you guys coming?”

“Of course,” Pansy gave Draco one last squeeze and sauntered down the hallway, giving Harry’s hair a ruffle as she passed him.

“Everything okay?” Harry asked as Draco caught up.

“Yeah. Fine. Everything’s great. Pansy and I haven’t had much time just the two of us in awhile, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry said, his gaze dropping to the floor, “I can not hang around so much. I didn’t mean to monopolize you or anything.”

“What?” Draco said, “No, I like having you around. And, um, Granger and the Weasel, too.”

Harry rolled his eyes but Draco was happy to see the smile that spread across his face.

They caught up with the rest of their group and soon arrived at the painting to the kitchens. Blaise reached out and, slowly making eye contact with everyone in the group, stroked his finger back and forth across the round expanse of the acrylic pear. Ron made a gagging sound, Granger giggled, and Draco caught Pansy’s eye, raising a single eyebrow at the blush that spread across her pale cheeks.  
The house elves welcomed them with their usual enthusiasm, a table for six already set for them in a far corner of the kitchen. The elves were used to their group, now, after they had been eating solely in the kitchen for almost the entirety of the school year so far. Every now and then a few other eighth years joined them, but usually it was just their group of six.

Draco had been shocked the first time other eighth years had been waiting for them outside the pear painting. At first it had been a couple other Gryffindors–Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas–and Draco had prepared himself for an awkward night of forced interaction. But as conversation flowed easily throughout the night Draco had realized that Pansy and Blaise were as comfortable with the other Gryffindors as they were with the Golden Trio. A week after that enlightening evening, a group had been waiting for them comprised of the same Gryffindors and an odd assortment of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. That kitchens had been wild that night — filled with loud conversation and laughter. Ron had pulled out a box filled with yet-to-be-released Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes and the night had devolved into a hilarious session of testing the newest prankster products. Draco had realized that night that the only one still preoccupied with supposed grudges was him. He had assumed that his eighth year classmates would want nothing to do with him, Blaise, or Pansy. But apparently while he had been hiding out on his own, intent on avoiding everyone, Pansy and Blaise had been slowly but surely befriending their peers. Luckily for him, Pansy and Blaise seemed to have done all the hard work of overcoming their unpleasant reputations and he was accepted into the strange inter-house friend group without a hassle. Had McGonagall stumbled upon one of their more crowded dinner sessions she would have cried with joy.

 

* * *

 

 

As December came along and the grounds became coated in a heavy layer of snow, it had been so long since Draco had been hexed that he almost forgot to be nervous. Almost forgot how it felt to be constantly alert. He was walking with Harry down one of the longer hallways in the castle, deserted as the Great Hall was filled with people eating floors below them. Harry was telling some stupid story about a narwhal. Draco didn’t know what a narwhal was, but he nodded along anyway. He just liked to listen to Harry talk. About anything really. He was a goner. Pansy was right. There was no hope for his poor heart.

He was looking at Harry when the movement caught his eye. A little flutter, of a robe, perhaps, at the end of the long hallway. He was pushing Harry aside before he had time to recognize what was happening. The jet of bright light barely missed Draco. They went careening into a tapestry that turned out to be concealing a large doorway, and went falling through it, landing in a tangled heap against the rough floor.

“What the hell?” Harry said, grabbing Draco’s arms as he pushed himself up onto his knees. Draco’s heart was racing in his chest, and having Harry on his knees above him wasn’t helping.

“Someone tried to hex me,” Draco said, letting his head fall back against the floor with a dull thud, “Or you. But probably me.”

“I know!” Harry roared, looking angrier than Draco had ever seen him.

He was climbing to his feet, untangling his shoes from Draco’s legs as he stood. He swept the tapestry aside and Draco could hear him charging down the hallway. Draco sat up and moved so that his back was resting against the wall. The likelihood that Harry would find whatever idiot kept trying to hurt him was unlikely. McGonagall had been trying to find the second attacker for months with no success.  
Eventually, Draco heard the stomping footsteps of an angry Harry Potter. Very distinctive, that stomp. The tapestry was whipped aside and Harry began to pace up and down the small alcove. He couldn’t go farther than ten feet before spinning on his heel and setting off in the opposite direction. Draco watched him pace, more amused than was probably appropriate given the situation.

“I can’t believe someone tried to hex you!” Harry said, stopping in front of Draco with his hands on his hips. Draco tried hard not to laugh at his stance.

“Haven’t you been paying attention? Someone’s been trying to hex me all year. It’s only the strong, scary Boy Wonder who’s been keeping me safe all this time,” Draco said, with a nod towards Harry.

Harry blushed, “I haven’t been keeping you safe. You can do that yourself.”

“Wasn’t that the point of your walking me to all my classes?” Draco laughed.

“Er, yeah. I guess.” Harry scratched at the back of his neck and ran a hand through his messy hair. With a sigh he slumped down to sit on the floor next to Draco.

“Don’t worry. They didn’t get me,” Draco said, more seriously.

“I know that,” Harry said, although his eyes slid over Draco’s body as if reassuring himself, “It’s just that they could have. And who knows what kind of hex they were throwing. It could have been something serious.”

“It could always be something serious. I forgot to be on guard, is all. I won’t let it happen again.”

“You shouldn’t have to be on guard,” Harry said, his voice too loud in the small space. Draco jumped at the strength of his outburst.

“Hey,” he put a tentative hand on Harry’s shoulder, “I’m okay. Really.”

Harry’s cheeks were the sweet, rosy red they got when he was embarrassed or upset. Draco left his hand on Harry’s shoulder and tried not to jump when Harry’s chin slid across his knuckles as he turned his head towards Draco. They were friends. But they didn’t touch. That was a boundary they hadn’t crossed. A boundary Draco was terrified of crossing.

But here they were, sitting so close that their shoulders brushed, and Draco could feel the rough stubble on Harry’s face against the back of his hand. Draco gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze, feeling the strength underneath his palm, and pulled his hand away. It was a bad idea —touching Harry Potter. Pansy and Blaise were right. Draco had been in love with Harry since the beginning of their school days. And it didn’t seem to be something that was going away anytime soon. And certainly not with Potter sitting so close, in a dimly lit alcove they had all to themselves.

Draco sat forward onto his heels, ready to get out of the tiny space and away from the stupid git who sent his rational thoughts into disarray. He stopped when Harry grabbed his forearm, pulling him back down against the wall. And putting him even closer to Harry. Harry was facing Draco now, his upper body twisted so that Draco’s shoulder was pressed firmly against Harry’s chest. If he didn’t get out of here soon he was going to spontaneously combust. It had been too long since he had gotten laid.

“Hey,” Harry said, giving Draco’s arm a squeeze where he still held onto it. Draco looked at him, and then immediately regretted meeting his gaze, “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

“That’s a stupid promise to make,” Draco said, “the giant squid could eat me tomorrow.”

“I won’t let it.”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to stop it.”

“I will. For you, I will.” Harry blushed a deep crimson and Draco stared at him in disbelief.

“I thought you said you weren’t my bodyguard.” Draco said mindlessly. Harry seemed to be getting closer. And with anyone else Draco would know what to do — would know how to tilt his head, would know what to expect. But this was the Savior of the Wizarding World. This was Harry — the stupid boy he’d been preoccupied with for years. So it was a surprise when Harry’s lips touched Draco’s. A surprise when Draco watched Harry’s eyes slide close and felt his do the same. A surprise when Harry pulled back after a quick second and let his breath fan over Draco’s lips.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Harry said again, and Draco could practically taste the words as they fell from Harry’s mouth.

“That sounds boring.” Draco realized he was sliding his nose against Harry’s — their lips teasing each other with how close they were to touching.

“I won’t let any bad things happen to you.”

“Okay, if you insist.” Draco said.

“I insist.”

Draco leaned forward and closed the last little bit of space between their lips. And this time it was no surprise. Draco was ready for the rush that swept through his body — his heart leapt to his throat and set off a cascade of butterflies in his belly. They pressed their mouths together again and again. Draco teased at Harry’s lips with the tip of his tongue. Felt Harry open to him, moaned at the wet heat of his mouth.

Draco pulled away. “Cinnamon.”

“Hmm?” Harry’s gaze was unfocused.

“You taste like cinnamon.”

“Um. Yeah, it’s my favorite flavor of Fresh-Breath-Charm.”

Draco nodded, and leaned back in. He left little pecks across Harry’s lips. Harry opened for him at the first touch and Draco shivered at the heat of his mouth. Harry pressed in close.

Their hands grabbed and pulled at each other’s bodies. Draco twisted his hands into Harry’s messy hair. His arm wrapped tight around his back. Harry’s hands were cupping Draco’s face, sliding down his neck and caressing his chest. They kissed for what seemed like years. Tasting and biting and moaning. Draco could feel the flames sliding beneath his skin. Wanting so bad it felt like fire.

Harry pulled away and groaned Draco’s name, his head tilted back. Draco slid his lips down Harry’s throat, tasting his skin and leaving little bites along the way. He wanted to mark him — to leave his name spelled out in bruises against Harry’s skin.

“Please,” Harry gasped, his hands clutching at the fabric of Draco’s robes.

“Please what?” Draco said against his neck, leaving a sharp bite against Harry’s collarbone that had him gasping.

“Please, anything. More.” Harry tugged again at Draco’s clothes, pulling himself up onto his knees and pulling Draco to his feet. Once they were both standing Harry pushed Draco hard against the wall, pressing his body close so that Draco could feel every hard line.

“Please,” Harry said again in a whisper as he sucked at the skin right below Draco’s ear.

Draco clutched at his hips and moaned, loud in the confined space, as he felt Harry hard against him. Harry pulled a hand away from where it was twisted in Draco’s robes and dug into his pocket for his wand. Draco watched him cast a silencing charm over the big tapestry.

They groped at each other’s bodies furiously. Draco couldn’t get enough. He slid his hands up and down Harry’s arms, feeling the muscles flex under his touch. He tangled his fingers in Harry’s hair, tugging and reveling in the whimper it produced. He slid his tongue into Harry’s mouth, tasting and teasing. He was frantic — more turned on then he had ever been in his entire life. He pulled tight at Harry’s hips, needing him closer, needing to melt into his body. They rutted against each other, desperately searching for friction against each other’s bodies. Draco could come just from this. Draco’s searching fingers found the waist of Harry’s pants and he shoved his hands down the back, curling his hands around the soft skin of the ass he had admired for longer than he cared to admit. He squeezed and pulled Harry’s body up against him just as Draco pressed his body forwards. Draco could feel the hard outline of Harry’s cock slide perfectly against his own and they both groaned long and loud.

“Please. Please. Draco. Touch me. Please touch me,” Harry pleaded and Draco almost came in his pants, “I need you. I need you to touch me. Please, Draco. I need you.”

Draco roughly shoved Harry’s pants down so that they pooled around his ankles, and spun them around so that Harry was pressed against the wall. He kissed and sucked at Harry’s mouth as he frantically unbuttoned his own pants, shoving them halfway down his thighs so that his cock sprung free. Harry pulled away from their kiss to watch as Draco took both their cocks in one hand and began to jerk them off.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry moaned, his back arching away from the wall. Harry was gasping and moaning Draco’s name, his hands sliding underneath Draco’s shirt to scratch up and down his sides and pinch at his nipples.

“Harry, fuck. You’re going to make me come,” Draco groaned into Harry’s neck. He could taste the salt on Harry’s skin and he sucked at it long and hard, imagining the bruise that would form beneath his mouth.

Harry gasped, “Yes, yes. I want to watch you come. I want to see it. Please. Let me watch you come.”

Harry’s hand slid down Draco’s body until he was gripping their cocks — his hand wrapped tight around Draco’s.

“Fuck, Harry. Fuck.” Draco slid their hands faster, reveling in the tug of their hands against his cock, the way Harry felt hard against him.  
He could feel his orgasm building and he pushed his body closer to Harry’s, trapping him against the wall as he jacked them off. They were sliding against each other — hard and both so desperate to come. The head of Harry’s cock caught Draco’s and he froze, his body pulsing as he came hard over their hands and up onto both of their bellies.

Harry groaned, his voice scratchy and rough as he pleaded against Draco’s skin to make him come, how hot it was, how good Draco made him feel. His hands were fisted in the cloth of Draco’s robes, tugging and grasping. Draco kept pulling at their cocks, the stimulation almost too much in his sensitive post-orgasm state.

“Come for me, Harry. I want to watch you come for me.” Draco growled in Harry’s ear, biting at his earlobe and using his free hand to tug at his hair. Draco watched in awe as Harry arched against him — his body drawn as tight as a bowstring — and came with a long, beautiful moan. He felt Harry’s cum on his hand, his belly. Draco slid his hands through the mess they had made over their cocks, soft and slow, and watched Harry recover. His eyes slowly slid open and Harry’s cock began to soften alongside Draco’s. Harry jumped every time Draco’s hand passed over his sensitive head and Draco vaguely wondered if he could get Harry hard again.

Harry unclenched his hands from where they had been grasping at Draco’s robes and wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck. Draco closed his eyes against the warmth that blossomed in his chest at the motion. He stuck his hand into the pocket of the robes they had never gotten around to removing and cast a quick cleaning spell. He tucked them both back into their pants, leaving little caresses against the skin of Harry’s cock and his stomach as he did.

Harry left his arms wrapped around Draco’s neck as Draco set them both back to rights. When he was done he slid his hands around Harry’s waist and let his weight rest against Harry so that they were both pinned to the wall. Draco realized he was tracing his fingers over the soft skin of Harry’s sides when Harry squirmed away, laughing.

With an exaggerated groan he slid down the wall to sprawl on the hard, stone floor, staring up at Draco with a big grin on his face.

Draco laughed, “Yes?” He gingerly sat next to Harry, stretching his legs out so they paralleled Harry’s.

“You know what,” Harry said, sliding his leg over so that it was pressed against Draco’s.

“Nope. No idea.”

Harry laughed and Draco tried to contain the little sparks of electricity that fizzled in his veins at Harry’s smile.

“Really, mate,” Draco smiled, “Not a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry rolled towards him, “You sure about that?”

“Uh, yes,” Draco said, distracted by how close Harry was, and the way his hand was slowly sliding up Draco’s leg. The worries that had been building up in his head about things becoming awkward fell to dust.

“You don’t remember this?” Harry’s hand slid lightly over the front of his trousers and he bit his lip to hold in a moan.

“Nope,” He said.

“Or this?” Draco watched, entranced, as Harry sat up and leaned in for a kiss.

“That might be familiar,” Draco said as they pulled apart.

“I hope so,” Harry whispered.

“It was a pretty good kiss.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.” Draco said, and Harry smiled.

Harry’s hand slid over Draco’s, twining their fingers together, and Draco couldn’t stop the blush that warmed his face. Harry leaned over to kiss Draco’s blood-warm cheek.

“I’m so glad Pansy told me,” Harry said, resting his head against Draco’s shoulder.

“What?” Draco said, his breath freezing in his chest.

Harry hummed, “Earlier today, when she told me you were in love with me.”

“She what?” Draco could feel the tension in his muscles, and Harry finally realized it, too. He sat up, looking alarmed. Draco pulled his hand from Harry’s and couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Draco,” Harry said, reaching a hand up to his shoulder. Draco flinched away, pushing himself away from the wall and onto his feet in one graceful movement. “Draco, please wait.”

“No,” Draco said, shoving the heavy tapestry aside and striding down the long hallway. How could he be so stupid? Of course Pansy had told Harry. He should have known she wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut. And with a hero’s complex the size of a dragon, Harry was the perfect knight in shining armor. Ready to save Draco from harm.

“Draco, please!” Harry was chasing him down the hallway.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” Draco said, and was startled at the lump that filled his throat. He hadn’t cried in…longer than he could remember. Maybe the last time he had encountered Harry in a deserted part of the castle alone. He had wound up in a puddle of his own blood, that time, but he thought this might hurt worse.

“Stop,” Harry said, catching up to him and pulling him to a halt with a tight hand wrapped around his bicep, “Draco, you have to listen to me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Draco scoffed. “Now, let go of me or I’ll curse you.”

“No you won’t.”

“Try me,” Draco said, reaching for his wand.

Potter was quicker—pulling Draco’s wand from his robe pocket and stuffing it down the back of his pants.

“Draco, Pansy only told me because she heard me say it first.”

“Give me back my wand, Potter.” Draco said, trying to pull his arm from Harry’s tight grip.

“Are you even listening to me?” Harry asked, giving Draco’s arm a shake.

“No.” With a quick twist, he wrenched his arm free. He turned on his heel and continued his angry stomping away from Harry.

“Draco, you stupid git. Stop walking away from me.”

Draco didn’t stop, and the next thing he knew he was falling against the hard floor, with Harry on top of him.

“Are you fucking serious?” Draco said, squirming underneath Harry’s weight. “Did you really just tackle me?”

“Yes,” Harry huffed, trying to catch Draco’s flailing limbs. “Stay still and listen to me, damn it.”

“No. Get off of me.”

“Draco, fucking stop.”

“You stop. Don’t touch me.” Draco’s throat was tight again, and feeling Harry pressed against him made everything worse. “Get. Off” Draco managed to get his hands flat against the ground and he pressed up with all his strength, turning so that Harry was the one pinned.

“Draco,” Harry gasped, their faces too close for Draco’s comfort.

He scrambled to his feet, pushing Harry back down as he tried to get up. He fled down the hall, ashamed of the tears that stained his cheeks.  
“Draco,” Harry shouted behind him, “I love you, too.”

The words caught up to Draco as he turned the corner. He slid to a stop, his body flushing hot and cold. He took a deep, shaky breath, and opened his eyes. He jumped at the figure in front of him, face distorted by an effective obscurement charm. The figure raised his wand, and Draco groped at his robe pocket before remembering that his wand was down the back of Harry Potter’s pants. He almost laughed at the euphemism, but the figure muttered something under his breath, there was a flash of light, and then the world went dark.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco groaned at the ache in his limbs as he stretched them against the lumpy bed. The infirmary again, apparently. Everything in his body hurt. He felt like he had been run over by a herd of hippogriffs.

“What the hell did you do?” Draco heard Pansy’s voice.

“Nothing, it wasn’t me.” Harry was there, too, apparently. Somewhere near Draco’s bed.

“You were there, why didn’t you stop it?”

“I caught the guy,” Harry said, and Draco’s eyes popped open in surprise, “what more do you want?”

“You promised me you wouldn’t hurt him.” Draco could imagine Pansy poking a sharp, pointed fingernail into Potter’s chest.

“I didn’t! Well, I didn’t hex him.”

Draco could see the two of them standing just outside of the curtains that surrounded his bed. He watched Pansy’s eyebrows furrow even more deeply over her dark eyes.

“What? Did you hurt him?” She was tapping Harry’s chest with every word, her painted claws leaving a dent in his shirt.

“No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. He ran away.”

“Did you tell him you love him?”

“Yes!” Harry said, throwing his hands up.

“Before he ran away?”

Harry’s arms fell back to his side, “Well. No.”

“Idiot,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. She glanced over at Draco, gasped, and scurried to his side as she saw he was awake.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” She asked, brushing back his hair.

“Like I’ve been eaten by a dragon.”

“Not quite. Just hexed,” Harry said from where he stood behind Pansy. She turned to glare at him.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“McGonagall’s got him,” Pansy said softly, “the guy who’s been attacking you.”

“Yeah? That’s good.”

“She wanted to talk to you once you were awake.”

“I’m not awake,” Draco said, and Pansy and Harry both laughed. As much as Draco appreciated Pansy’s presence—and the delightful sensation of her sharp nails against his scalp—he could feel Harry’s eyes and knew they needed to talk. He remembered Harry’s shouted declaration, as well. He wondered if he had heard him right, if Harry meant it, what it meant. But even with his curiosity driving his thoughts into a tailspin, he was too tired to do much more than sleepily meet Harry’s gaze. Harry was staring at him, wide-eyed. Draco lasted a few long seconds, before his heavy eyelids slid closed.

“Sleep, darling,” Pansy said, detangling her fingers from his hair, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“We both will,” Harry’s voice said, and Draco couldn’t help but smile.

 

Angry voices woke him the second time. He slowly sat up, wincing. The curtains were pulled tight around his bed, so he couldn’t see who was arguing, but the voices were moving closer to him. He could pick out McGonagall’s angry tones and he ran a hand through his hair in a lazy effort to look a little more presentable.

The curtains were flung aside, and Draco watched as a crowd of people filled the small space around his bed. McGonagall stood at the foot of his bed, with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Pansy, Blaise, and, surprisingly, Neville Longbottom fanning out on either side of him. Draco’s eyes fell on Harry, and his eyed widened at Harry’s bruised face.

“What happened to you?” Draco asked him.

“Mr. Potter decided to take matters into his own hands,” McGonagall said before Harry had a chance to answer.

“What do you mean?” Draco said, “You looked fine earlier. I was awake, wasn’t I? I saw you.”

“You were,” Pansy said gently, stepping forward to grab hold of Draco’s hand, “You did see him.”

“Then what happened?” Draco couldn’t stop staring at Harry’s face. At the bruises that marred his clear skin, the cut that scraped across his jawline.

“Mr. Potter confronted your attacker this evening,” McGonagall said.

“I know, he caught him, right?” Draco interrupted.

“Not quite,” McGonagall continued, “Mr. Potter did succeed in capturing the perpetrator earlier this evening immediately after you were hexed. The young man was being kept in a locked room and under guard, but he escaped. Mr. Potter encountered him for the second time not long ago, where they dueled until the man pulled an innocent passerby — a young first year — into the fray. At that point, Mr. Potter ceased his attack and the young man was able to escape. Mr. Longbottom found Potter in his current state and they rushed to inform me. I’ve sent a search party to scour the grounds and have informed the ministry.”

“And the first year? Are they okay?” Draco said, holding tight to Pansy’s hand.

“He’s fine. A little shaken, but no harm done. The young man stupefied the student before he fled out a window.”

“You said you had him in custody. Do you know who he is?”

“We do. We were able to release his obscurement charm once we had him in our custody. Mr. Potter immediately recognized him as Theodore Nott.”

 

* * *

 

 

Draco’s stay in the infirmary lasted a full three days. Nott had cursed him with some kind of poison, one which left him taking an endless series of potions to counteract it, carefully administered by Madam Pomfrey, but from which he would make a full recovery. Draco was pleased to know he wouldn’t end up dead quite yet, but the potions he was forced to drink all seemed to be getting progressively worse in taste. They also seemed to be messing with his taste buds, which he had discovered when Pansy snuck him a piece of his favorite treacle tart and he had spat his first bite across the bed when his mouth was flooded with an unbearably sour flavor.

Overall, he was very pleased to leave the infirmary. Even if it meant once again doing the homework for all his classes that he had been excused from while recuperating. And even if it meant an awkward conversation with Harry.

The conversation happened in potions class. Draco hadn’t remembered that he would be sitting next to Harry for an entire class period until he stepped through the classroom door. He walked slowly to the table, ignoring the collective stares of everyone in the classroom until Neville stepped into his path.

“Hey, Draco. I hope you’re doing okay.” Neville said — a sentiment that was quickly echoed around the room.

Draco could feel himself blushing. With Nott’s attack he had forgotten — or chose to willingly ignore — that their ragtag group of eighth years were more friend than foe. “Thanks, Neville. I’m a lot better.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Neville gave Draco a quick pat on the shoulder and wandered back to his seat. Draco caught Pansy’s amused grin and gave her one of his own. He continued his slow trek to his own table. Harry was staring intently at the faded tabletop and Draco watched him scratch at the surface with anxious fingers. Good. At least he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

He slid into his seat, ignoring the lingering twinges from Nott’s latest curse. “Hey,” Draco said, awkwardly clearing his throat when his voice came out as a squeak.

“Hey,” Harry said, “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” They sat in uncomfortable silence and Draco sent a silent demand to Slughorn to heave his giant ass out of his chair and start class. Draco hadn’t seen Harry since learning the identity of his attacker. Pansy, Blaise, and Hermione had kept an almost constant vigil at his bedside, as if they expected Nott to come banging through the infirmary doors. Even Ron had stopped by a few times — awkward and unsure of himself but appreciated nonetheless. Harry had been a conspicuous absence in Draco’s ragtag group of protectors. Blaise had tried to broach the topic, but Pansy and Hermione’s chilling glares had cut that conversation short.

Which left Draco sitting next to Harry with no idea what to say. Draco remembered Harry’s profession of love, despite the specific details surrounding Nott’s attack being a little fuzzy. But Harry’s words had been running laps around his head for days. That didn’t stop Draco’s anxious brain from reminding him that Harry could have changed his mind. He could have decided that Draco’s propensity for getting cursed was a tidbit annoying, or that a former Death Eater wasn’t the most suitable match for the Savior of the Wizarding World. Draco could create an endless list of reasons why Harry didn’t love Draco. At least not in the way that Draco loved Harry.

Harry took a deep breath and turned in his seat. Draco tensed, wondering what Harry was building himself up to say. “Draco—“  
“Alright, listen up. Listen up,” Slughorn had hauled his considerable girth from his chair and was waddling around to the blackboard where a piece of chalk was beginning to write on its own. Draco practically groaned aloud in frustration as Harry blushed and turned back towards the front. He dug a scroll of parchment out of his bag and Draco reluctantly did the same. They spent the rest of the class in silence, both frantically scribbling down notes to accompany Slughorn’s lecture.

As the class ended, Draco took his time packing up. He was glad to see Harry doing the same. By the time they had both managed to waste as much time as possible putting away a scroll and quill each, the room was empty. Harry grinned, having apparently had the exact same thought as Draco.

“I guess it’s time to talk,” Draco said, and the smile slid off of Harry’s face.

“Uh, yeah. I suppose it is.”

“We don’t have to,” Draco said, pulling at a loose thread on his robe.

“No, I want to.” Harry blushed. “I mean, I think we should.”

Draco nodded and led the way out of the classroom. They both had a free period after Potions — all of the eighth years did — so if they steered clear of the library and the eighth year house they shouldn’t have any awkward interruptions.

“So,” Draco said. “Do you want to start?”

“Uh, sure. I guess. That’s fine.” Harry paused. Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as he took several large, deep breaths, began to move his mouth as if to say something, and then let it out in a long sigh.

“Ok, fine.” Draco gave Harry a little glare. “I’ll start. Why didn’t you tell me that Pansy told you?”

“Told me…that you were in love with me?” Harry tentatively asked.

“No, you stupid git. That I love treacle tart,” Draco scoffed. “Yes, that I, erm, might have some….feelings…regarding you.”

“When was I supposed to tell you?” Harry’s cheeks were slowly changing to the ruddy hue that Draco knew meant he was getting upset.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe before you took your cock out.”

“What difference would it have made?”

“If I had known that Pansy had told you I wouldn’t have touched your dick.” Draco realized he had been shouting when a frightened-looking second year went scrambling down the hallway where they seemed to have stopped. Draco pulled out his wand and cast a quick Muffliato around them and went back to glaring at Harry.

“Well I’m sorry you were forced to touch my dick. But at the time it seemed like you quite enjoyed it.” Harry took a step towards Draco, raising his hands as if to push him before crossing them tightly over his chest. Draco could feel his face heating.

“Well of course I bloody enjoyed it, you great oaf.” Draco took a small step towards Harry so that they were practically brushing noses, and poked him hard in the chest. “Do you not remember the part about me being in love with you?”

Draco watched as all the fight in Harry seemed to drain away, leaving him limp and wide-eyed. “Do you actually?”

“Do I actually what?” Draco snapped.

“Love me? Do you really love me?”

“Why the hell would Pansy lie about that?” Draco couldn’t understand why Harry was suddenly smiling. They were fighting for Merlin’s sake. One wasn’t supposed to smile during a fight.

“So you do?”

“I’m not going to say it. You and your stupid grin can fuck off.”

“I love you, too, Draco,” Harry said softly, “Do you remember me saying that?”

Draco idly wondered if he had been hexed again when it seemed like every one of his bones turned into a limp noodle. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes,” Harry said, brushing his fingertips against Draco’s forearm. Draco was mortified to feel the prick of tears when Harry’s hand slid down to hold his.

“Saviors of the Wizarding World aren’t supposed to be in love with Death Eaters,” Draco sniffled.

“You’re not a Death Eater anymore.”

“Saviors of the Wizarding World aren’t supposed to love former Death Eaters.”

“Well, this one does.” Harry gave a little tug on Draco’s hand and their chests brushed together. Draco could feel the bony knobs of Harry’s knees against his own.

“It could just be your Hero Complex acting up.” Draco closed his eyes as their noses brushed, little Eskimo kisses that had his heart leaping into his throat.

“It’s not,” Harry said and kissed him. His mouth was warm and soft and Draco hadn’t realized how much he had missed kissing it. One frantic interaction hiding behind a tapestry wasn’t enough. He wanted everything.

After a few long, heated moments Draco pulled away. Harry followed, leaving little kisses on his cheeks before resting his forehead against Draco’s.

“So, um, what does this all mean?” Draco asked, stepping back.

“Like, that kiss?”

“No. Well, yeah, I guess. But all of this.” Draco waved a hand between them. He smiled when Harry reached out and grabbed it, intertwining their fingers.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever we want it to mean.”

“Are you being deliberately obtuse?” Draco tugged on Harry’s hand, “Are we fuck buddies? Are we dating? Are we never going to talk to each other again?”

“Draco,” Harry laughed, “I told you I love you. And even though you didn’t say it, I know you love me, too. So, yeah, I want to date you.”

Draco blushed and when he couldn’t think of anything to say in response, pulled Harry in for another kiss.

This one was much more heated than the first and by the time they pulled away they were both breathing hard.

“I love you, too,” Draco said. He watched the smile that lit up Harry’s face and couldn’t help mirroring it.

“Come on, I wanna take you back to my room and ravish you.”

“Your roommates might object to that.”

“That’s what concealment charms are for. And, besides, I owe Ron for some of the stuff I’ve had to hear.”


	10. Chapter 10

Draco and Harry were walking down the corridor, their hands brushing against each other with every couple steps, when they stumbled across Pansy and Blaise. They came tumbling out from behind a tapestry, giggling, with their arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Draco realized with a start that it was the same tapestry which he and Harry had been behind and that Pansy and Blaise were an obvious mess of amorous activity. Pansy’s usual perfectly straight hair was mussed and frizzy, and Blaise had a darkening love bite blooming on his neck. 

“Oh. Hello,” Pansy said, the two of them coming to a sudden stop as they realized they weren’t alone. Draco watched as Pansy tried to pull her arm from around Blaise’s waist, but he held fast to her hand, keeping her tucked tight against his body. 

“Whoa. When did this happen?” Harry asked, waving an all-encompassing hand over the two of them. 

“About a month ago,” Blaise said after a moment when it was obvious Pansy wasn’t going to answer.

“A month?” Draco echoed, “You two have been, well, doing whatever you’re doing for a month and I didn’t know about it?”

“It’s kind of obvious what they’re doing,” Harry said.

“It’s not like we put out an announcement or anything,” Blaise said, tightening his arm around Pansy as she squirmed next to him. “No one knew.”

“Yeah, but I’m not no one,” Draco looked at Pansy as he said it.

She gave a little shrug, and then a slightly larger one to throw off Blaise’s arm. “I didn’t mean to not tell you.” 

“But you didn’t.” 

“I mean, I guess not,” Pansy said, taking a little step towards him. Draco couldn’t help but frown at her — grumpy and upset that he had somehow become a no one while he wasn’t paying attention. Draco saw Harry grab Blaise’s arm out of the corner of his eye and drag him down the hallway. Draco made a mental reminder to give him a smacking kiss for it later. 

“Pans, come on. It’s me,” Draco whined, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pansy sighed, “Well, you’ve been a little busy and all.”

“That’s no excuse. You blabbed to Harry, yet I didn’t even know you were interested in someone. Let alone Blaise.”

Pansy ducked her head and Draco was horrified to see a tear slide down her nose.

“Don’t cry. No, please, don’t cry,” Draco pleaded, wrapping an arm around her and beginning to rock back and forth. 

“I can’t believe I’m in love with Blaise,” She mumbled from where she was slowly dampening his robes with tears. 

“In love?” Draco said, wondering if his eyebrows were going to be permanently affixed to his hairline with the amount of revelations that were occurring. 

Pansy took a shuddery breath and Draco pulled her close, giving her back little rubs and pats as her sniffles subsided. She gave her eyes and nose a final wipe on his robe — a move so Pansy he couldn’t help but be charmed, if not a little disgusted — and straightened. 

“I didn’t want to love him,” She said, sounding a little more in control of her emotions. “I didn’t even want to like him. Or sleep with him.” 

“And yet?” Draco gave her a little nudge after a few long moments of silence.

“And yet, here I am.”

“How did it start?” He grabbed her hand to tuck it into the bend of his arm and began a slow stroll down the hallway in the opposite direction that Harry had tugged Blaise. 

“He was just always there, you know?”

“I mean, sure. But I didn’t just come tumbling out from behind a tapestry with him. The same tapestry that hid my first, erm, sexual encounter with Harry, I might add.”

Draco watched Pansy’s nose wrinkle in disgust and laughed. “I did not need to know that,” She said. 

“What, you don’t want to know all the sordid details?” He teased. 

She stopped, her small hand pulling him to a stop. “You know,” she began, a cat-like grin spreading over her face, “it could be kind of hot.” 

Draco stared at her, hoping she was kidding. When her Cheshire smile didn’t fade he pulled his arm away from her. “You’re kidding.”

“Maybe. What if your Harry is an exhibitionist?” Pansy teased, giving a little skip down the hall that set them moving again. 

“Um,” Draco said, flushing hot at the thought of Harry in any sexual context.

“Exactly. It could be hot.” Pansy laughed. 

“We’re not talking about me,” Draco said, trying to steer the conversation in a more manageable direction.

Pansy sighed, “We could be if you’d like.”

“I would not like. When did you and Blaise start, erm, being together?”

“Having sex?” Pansy asked, raising a single eyebrow at Draco’s obvious discomfort. 

“Look, it’s like imagining my sibling having sex. It’s weird okay?”

Pansy laughed, “Whatever you say, darling.” She sobered, “I guess it started about a month ago. We were alone in the library studying or at least trying to study. And then we were kissing. And then my shirt was unbuttoned and he had his mouth on my tits.” 

“What?” Draco stopped, “In the library? Are you crazy?”

“Well, it’s not like we planned it.” 

“But what if Madam Pince showed up?” 

“She did.”

“Madam Pince saw Blaise licking at your tits?” 

“No,” Pansy scoffed, “of course not. She saw me frantically buttoning some things up, but that’s all. We heard her coming. She’s quite a loud breather.”

“Merlin’s pants, Pans.” 

“Yes, well, that’s how things started. And we spend so much time together anyway, we just added a new level of nakedness.” 

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice.” 

“I’m not surprised. I was trying quite hard to keep it under wraps, and you have been quite busy.”

“I would have made time for you,” Draco said, “If you wanted to talk.” 

“I didn’t. I was quite happy keeping it quiet.”

“From the general public, sure. But why didn’t you tell me?”

Pansy pulled them over to a little alcove where a bench conveniently waited for them. “It would have made it seem more real, I suppose,” she finally said, picking at her fingernails. 

“Yes, well, once someone’s dick is inside you, it’s hard to pretend it’s make-believe,” Draco drawled. 

Pansy laughed loud and bright and Draco let out a sigh of relief. If he could make Pansy laugh everything would be okay. 

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” She shrugged. “I just didn’t want it to be real for me, I guess. If it’s real, if I told you and acknowledged what I was feeling…”

“Then you could get hurt,” Draco finished. Pansy nodded, dropping her head to rest against his shoulder. 

“We are quite sappy, have you realized?” Pansy said, slipping her hand into Draco’s.

Draco groaned, “The sappiest. Merlin knows why we were sorted into Slytherin.” 

The sat pressed together until the period ended and watched as hundreds of students filled the castle halls with noise and energy. Draco felt a pang of panic upon realizing that he had wasted an entire free period talking to Harry and then Pansy, accomplishing absolutely no school work. But then Pansy lifted her head to kiss his cheek and he knew it was worth it. He could always stay up a little later tonight finishing the last couple inches of whichever essay he was supposed to write tonight.


	11. Chapter 11

The rest of the week passed in a blur. With the Winter holiday only a week away the Professors seemed to have unanimously decided to overwhelm their students with mountains of work. Almost every night Draco was in the library, buried in his books until the hour was late and his eyes were sliding closed. This gave him very little time to spend with Harry. Alone, that is. Because although Draco was spending just as much time with Harry as before, they were always with other people. And while this had never bothered Draco in the past, he had never before been allowed to kiss Harry whenever the impulse struck. Draco was coming to realize the impulse struck quite a lot.

Luckily, Harry seemed just as miserable about their circumstances. Which made it completely acceptable for Draco to stare longingly at him instead of doing his work — to the vast amusement of whoever was at the table with them. But Draco couldn't help it. He had spent years hiding his feelings. And knowing that Harry returned those feelings made it impossible to maintain the cool facade he usually wore.

They had managed a few quick moments alone — walking so slow that the rest of their group eventually left them behind, or quick sleepy conversations and kisses before they went their separate ways to bed. But it wasn’t enough. Especially after one sleepy night when Harry and Draco had been sitting in front of the fire in their empty common room. Harry had been playing with Draco’s fingers and yawning incessantly. They had spent what felt like the entire day in the library. 

“What are we calling ourselves?” Harry had suddenly asked, entwining their fingers.

“What do you mean?” Draco had said, “I usually call myself Draco. And typically call you Harry, although admittedly you’re sometimes called ‘Boy With the Wonderful Dick’ in my head.” 

“No,” Harry said, not even cracking a smile at Draco’s wonderful joke, “Just, like, what are we telling people? Are we public with whatever this is?”

Draco watched the blush that spread across Harry’s dusky skin. He felt a similar rush of blood under his own cheeks. “I thought this was dating. It doesn’t have to be, though,” Draco had said, trying to pull his fingers from Harry’s tight grip.

“No,” Harry said, “I want to be. Dating.” 

“Oh,” Draco had felt like his whole body was one big pulse point, he was blushing so hard. “I think that means you tell people I’m your boyfriend.”

Harry ducked his head, “So we’re telling people? And, like, allowed to touch each other in public?” 

Draco had tackled Harry instead of answering, but the frantic kisses he had left on every available inch of Harry’s skin had been answer enough. 

That conversation had helped to settle some of the nerves that had taken up residence in Draco’s stomach over Harry but had just added to the ever present heat that simmered under his skin. He just needed a solid week of time to spend exclusively with Harry. He didn’t want anyone else there. And he wanted Harry naked for at least 80% of the time. Then maybe he could stop thinking about what Harry’s cock looked like or the sounds he made when he was turned on. 

It all came to a head the day before the Winter holiday began. Everyone in the castle was in high spirits as the day came closer to it’s close. With a massive feast planned for the evening, and the Hogwarts Express leaving in the morning, there was a lot to be cheerful over. The few weeks without classes were also a perk.

After finally succeeding in pulling Hermione away from the library, their group headed down to the kitchens for a quick lunch. They had only two classes left before their break began, but both with extensive assignments that had to be turned in before they were free. They had been working non-stop for over a week and even Draco, who sometimes rivaled Hermione for studiousness, was ready to be done. It didn’t help that Harry kept finding ways to touch him — sliding a hand across Draco’s shoulders as he got up to get a book, a hand at the small of Draco’s back as they walked through the hallways, a slow caress up and down his thigh whenever they sat next to each other. Draco had no escape from the pull of Harry Potter. Admittedly, he wasn’t trying very hard to get away. He was as bad as Harry with the constant touching. 

When they reached the kitchens they barely managed to make it through the door before being shooed away by an aggravated house elf with a frying pan. The whole kitchen was a mess of controlled chaos, with house elves racing to and fro carrying heavy platters loaded with food on their spindly arms. 

“I forgot about the feast tonight,” Hermione said as the painting of the pear slammed shut, “That must be why they’re so busy.”

“Well, you’d think they could have set aside something for us. I’m starving,” Ron complained. 

“Ronald,” Hermione whacked him on the arm with the heavy book she was carrying, “they’re working so hard to make you a delicious dinner. The least you can do is be a bit appreciative.”

“I’m sure Ron will be appreciative later, Hermione,” Blaise said. 

“I guess we’ll have to go to the Great Hall for lunch, then,” Harry said, giving Draco a worried glance. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I can survive a meal or two in the Great Hall.” 

“Excellent. Let’s go.” Ron said, striding off down the hallway. Pansy and Hermione laughed, linking arms and setting off after him. Draco, Blaise, and Harry took up the rear. By the time they reached the Great Hall they had found Neville, Luna, and Seamus, and were barely able to find enough table space to fit them all. Luckily, Pansy had a glare that could make anyone flee and she sent a few skittish first years scurrying away from an otherwise unoccupied portion of the Hufflepuff table. 

Draco focused on the friendly group around him — watching Ron smother his plate with food, Blaise’s subtle teasing that left a blush staining Pansy’s cheeks, Harry’s fond looks — to avoid the stares he could imagine were drilling their way into his skin. When he could stand it no longer he turned in his seat to take a quick look around the room. With quite a bit of surprise, he realized that hardly anyone was looking at him. And for those who were, very few of them seemed hostile. He felt a hand on his thigh and turned back to meet Harry’s gaze. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

“Yeah, I am,” Draco said, and realized it was true. Everything was okay. Sure, he had a maniac trying to curse him hiding around every corner, but that wasn’t new. And the people around him, the solid friendships and comfort he now felt, made Hogwarts feel more like home than it ever had before. 

Harry leaned closer so that Draco could feel his breath against the shell of his ear and couldn’t help but shiver, “Hurry up. I want to sneak away before our next class.” 

Draco turned towards him, heating beginning to pool low in his belly. He put on his best serious face, “Yeah? We’ve got lots more studying to do.” 

“What? No,” Harry said, “we’re not going to study.” Draco laughed. “Oh, you knew that, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah, I knew what you meant. It was hard to miss with the way you were practically licking my ear.” 

“I was not.” 

“You were. If I tipped my head your spit would probably drip out of my ear.”

“That’s disgusting.” 

“Well,” Draco grinned, “you’re the one who was putting your mouth all over my ear.” 

“I wasn’t. I was just trying to whisper.” 

“Harry, darling,” Pansy interjected, “Draco is mocking you. Close your mouth before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.”

Harry blushed bright red and Draco felt an absurd rush of fondness. 

“Come on, I’m done,” Draco said, pushing his plate away. Harry sprang to his feet and everyone laughed. 

“Little excited there, Harry?” Ron smirked. 

“Shut up.” Harry grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him from the Hall — to the loud hoots and cheering of the group they had abandoned. Harry didn’t slow down until they had gotten to the top of the first of many long staircases. Draco was reassured to notice that Harry was a bit out of breath from the endless stairs in this damn castle, too. 

“Where are we going?” Draco asked, smiling as Harry interlaced their fingers. 

“I was thinking one of our rooms?” 

“Mine is probably full of studious Ravenclaws,” Draco said, “There’s usually one or two in there at any given time looking like their head is about to explode with their vast quantities of knowledge.”

Harry laughed, “Well, mine will probably be empty. I think I saw everyone in the Great Hall.” 

“Okay,” Draco said, pulling Harry in close for a quick kiss. Harry melted into it, untangling their fingers to wrap his arms tight around Draco’s waist. For a few frantic moments, they clung to each other — both so desperate for any contact that they were clumsy in their haste. Harry pulled away after a long minute, his eyes droopy and dark in a way that had Draco’s stomach clenching. 

“Come on.” Harry tugged on Draco’s arm.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexy things ahead! Consider yourself warned!

By the time they reached the concealed door of the eighth-year house Draco felt like his blood was boiling beneath his skin. If he didn’t get to touch Harry’s naked skin soon he was going to spontaneously combust. He slowed their pace to something a more nonchalant as they passed through the common room. Luckily the few people who were bent over their books hardly noticed them. Harry led them down the hallway to the boys' dormitories and pulled Draco to a stop at the first door. He opened it enough to stick his head in and let out a comical whoop of joy which Draco took to mean that the room was empty. He hustled Harry through the door, kicking it shut behind him. He pulled his wand from his robes and cast locking and silencing charms on the door. 

“Please,” Harry said, tugging at Draco’s clothes, “I need to touch you. I feel like I’m going crazy.” 

Draco reached for him, his hands sliding around Harry’s waist to pull him close. Their mouths met in a messy kiss. Draco could feel Harry’s hands around his neck, tangling in his hair. 

“God, I’ve missed touching you,” Draco said, as Harry slid down Draco’s neck to suck at the sensitive skin there. Harry groaned and Draco felt the vibrations against his skin. “We need a bed.”

Harry dragged them to a bed across the room, pushing Draco down onto the soft surface before climbing on top of him. Draco held tight to Harry’s hips and pushed up against him. Harry’s hands slid beneath Draco’s shirt and then it was a frantic rush to get their clothes off as quickly as possible. Draco pushed Harry down so that he was lying flat on the bed, and set out to explore his body. 

He reveled in every sound he pulled from Harry’s mouth. He traced paths over Harry’s skin with his mouth and fingers. They slid together like they were meant to be entwined. They pulled at each other — fighting to get closer, to feel the exquisite rush that swept through them, crashed over them like a powerful ocean wave. Draco was lost in Harry’s embrace. Their mouths slid together — urgent and overwhelming — and their hands caressed and teased. Draco had never experienced anything like it. Harry was moaning in his ear, gasping Draco’s name as he sucked at the skin of his neck. He slid his way down Harry’s body — slowly, lingering and worshipping — until his mouth was hovering over Harry’s cock. 

“Please, Draco,” Harry begged, twining his fingers in Draco’s hair. 

“Please, what?” Draco teased, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against the skin of Harry’s thighs. 

“Please,” Harry gasped as Draco placed a chaste kiss at the base of Harry’s cock. Draco groaned when it pulsed against his lips. “I need your mouth on me, Draco.”

Draco finally gave in, sliding his mouth over Harry’s length and taking the sensitive tip into his mouth. Harry’s hands were wound tight into Draco’s hair and he let Harry’s breathy moans dictate his movements. Harry’s hips began to buck and Draco relaxed to let Harry fuck up into his mouth.

“Fuck, Draco. You’re amazing,” Harry moaned, “You’re going to make me come.” 

Draco pulled away from Harry’s cock and starting kissing his way up his body. 

“No, no. Please,” Harry whined. 

“You don’t get to come, yet.” Draco smiled at Harry’s pained groan. 

Harry grabbed one of Draco’s hand and led it down to drag over his cock and balls until it reached his ass. “I want you inside of me.” 

A wave of overwhelming heat consumed Draco’s body and mind at Harry’s plea. He twisted a hand in Harry’s hair to pull him in for a kiss. Draco could practically taste the desire that flared between them. He left his hand where Harry had placed it and teased with gentle fingers.

“Have you ever done that before?” Draco asked.

A blush spread down Harry’s chest, “No, not with anything but fingers.” 

Draco kissed the heat of Harry’s cheeks. “Okay, why don’t we do it the other way, then?” Draco watched as Harry drew a quick, deep breath. He could feel the way Harry’s cock jumped where it was pressed against Draco. He drew his hand away from Harry’s ass and straddled Harry’s hips.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked with a groan as their cocks came together. 

“Yes,” Draco whispered as he nibbled at the shell of Harry’s ear, “I want you inside of me.” 

“Fuck.” Harry slid his hands down Draco’s body and wrapped one arm tight around Draco’s waist. Draco gave a surprised squeak when Harry suddenly flipped them. 

Draco’s eyes traced the strong lines of Harry’s body as he lay beneath him. He could think of nothing in the world hotter than having Harry Potter hovering above him. Harry was letting nothing but their cocks touch — light, gentle movements that were setting Draco’s blood aflame. 

Harry reached a hand out, palm up, towards the dresser and Draco jumped when a little bottle came flying into his hand. 

“Wandless magic. Impressive.” Draco laughed. 

“Yes, well, I’ve got to bring out all my best tricks for you.” 

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him close so that the whole length of their bodies was touching. “You don’t need any tricks. Not for me.” 

Harry buried his face in the curve of Draco’s neck, but not before Draco saw the blush that colored his cheeks. He loved how easy it was to make Harry blush and how subtle the red coloring was beneath his brown skin. 

Harry recovered from his embarrassment and began to bite and suck at the skin of Draco’s neck. Soon, all the overwhelming heat Harry evoked came rushing back. 

Draco wound his fingers through Harry’s silky hair and pulled him up for a gentle kiss. Their frantic energy mellowed into something warmer. Draco could feel the love he felt for Harry in every inch of his body. He could feel the love Harry felt for him at every place they touched. This was what scared Draco — the way Harry’s touch felt like safety. Losing that might rival a myriad of other miserable experiences he had endured. 

Harry pushed those thoughts from Draco’s mind with soft, sweet kisses and slow caresses. As if they were floating down a lazy river. The slow-moving tide pulsing between them with little waves of fondness and pleasure.

Draco heard the quiet pop as Harry pulled the stopper from the small bottle of lube with another show of impressive wandless magic. He met Harry’s gaze and wiggled his eyebrows around, smiling when it sent Harry into a fit of giggles. 

“Geez, at this rate I’ll never have anything up my bum,” Draco teased.

“Shut up,” Harry responded, slicking up his fingers and trailing them down over Draco’s cock. Draco had some witty comment to make, but he forgot what it was with the feeling of Harry touching him and then pushing inside of him. 

Draco relaxed against the fluffy pillows and let Harry pleasure him. He couldn’t help the little noises that fell from his mouth. He watched Harry as he kneeled between Draco’s spread legs, a look of concentration on his face. 

“It feels so good,” Draco said, moaning as Harry’s fingers trailed over a particularly enjoyable spot. 

“Yeah?” Harry asked, “I don’t know if I’m doing it right.” 

Draco sat up, intent on reassuring him, but they both gasped as the change in position had Harry’s fingers pressing right up against Draco’s prostate, and his body tightening around his fingers. 

“You’re doing it right. So very right,” Draco moaned. He reached out and wrapped his hand around Harry’s cock. Harry gasped. 

“You can’t touch me,” Harry said, batting Draco’s hand away from his cock, “I don’t want to come, yet.” 

Draco pulled Harry in for a kiss. Harry continued to slowly open Draco with his fingers as their lips and tongues met again and again. Soon Draco was breathing hard against Harry’s lips. His arousal felt like a physical presence in the — stifling and overwhelming and so very good. 

“I’m ready,” Draco gasped, as Harry’s fingers brushed past his prostate for what felt like the millionth time. “I need you inside of me.”

“Fuck,” Harry slid his hand over the back of Draco’s neck and pulled him close until their foreheads were pressed together. “I don’t know how long I’m going to last, Draco. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. God, the sounds you make.”

“I’m not either. I just want you inside of me.” Draco reached between them to grasp at Harry’s cock and press it against his entrance. “Please, Harry.”

“Fuck, yeah. Okay.” Harry let Draco guide him as he pushed his hips slowly forward. They gasped in unison as the head of Harry’s cock pushed past the tight ring of muscle. Harry moved slowly, moving back and forth with little thrusts. His slow pace was going to make Draco insane, he was sure. He wanted everything Harry had. 

“You feel amazing,” Harry said, pulling his hips back to slowly slide forward again. But this time, Draco arched his hips towards Harry and gasped as the full length of his cock slid inside. “Draco. Fuck, Draco.” 

Draco moaned shamelessly and circled his hips. Harry swore and gripped Draco’s hips tight enough to leave bruises. He smiled in satisfaction as Harry obviously tried to slow his impending orgasm. Draco lowered himself down until he was flat on his back against the bed and grabbed at Harry’s wrists to pull him down, too. Harry came slowly, every muscle in his body tense. 

“I’m so close, Draco,” He said against Draco’s neck once they were pressed together. Draco arched against him, reveling in the feel of Harry’s skin against his own. 

“I know, Golden Boy.” 

“Hey, don’t call me that.” 

“Why not?” Draco gasped as Harry began to move. “You are a Golden Boy. Your skin shimmers like it’s covered in gold.” 

“What?” Harry said, his movements coming to a sudden stop. Draco paused, too, and thought back over what he had just said. Merlin’s pants. He couldn’t get any sappier if he tried.

“Nothing,” Draco said, pulling at Harry’s hips. “Come on, move.”

“You think I’m golden?” Harry smiled, pushing himself up to press a kiss to Draco’s pouting lips. 

“No. I think you look like poop.” 

“You don’t. And you can’t talk about poop while my dick is in your ass.” 

“Fine. You’re golden. You don’t look like poop. Congratulations. Now will you move.” 

“Yes, Draco, my love,” Harry whispered against Draco’s lips before beginning his slow, sensual grind. 

Draco could feel Harry’s breath against his neck and he turned to bite at the skin of Harry’s. He wanted to leave a mark. He wanted everyone to know that Harry was his. Harry moaned Draco’s name and his thrusts grew more sporadic. It felt like every movement was sliding Harry’s cock against Draco’s prostate. 

“I’m close, Harry,” Draco said, his voice breathy and high. Harry growled against Draco’s skin. Draco could feel the beginning of his orgasm — coiling tight and hot. “Fuck, Harry.”

Harry was gasping Draco’s name, his hands twisted tightly in Draco’s hair and pulling just hard enough to add the slightest bit of pleasure to the pain. 

“I’m going to come,” Harry groaned. Harry’s words — desperate and pleading — pushed Draco over the edge. He raked his nails over Harry’s back and came hard, a loud yell he had no control over filling the room. Harry followed a split second later, his face twisted in a silent grimace of pleasure. 

Draco wrapped his arms tight around Harry’s shoulders — holding him close in case he had any terrible ideas about moving. He could feel Harry’s heart beat racing against his own as they both fought to catch their breath. After their bodies had calmed Harry slowly pulled out, both of them wincing at the feeling without the pleasurable effects of arousal. After grabbing his wand off the floor and casting a quick cleaning spell, he climbed back into bed and snuggled up against Draco’s side. He smiled and tightened his arm around to pull Harry even closer.

“We should probably get dressed,” Draco said after a few long minutes, drawing little patterns on Harry’s skin. Harry hummed in agreement and snuggled closer. Draco laughed, wrapped his arms and legs around Harry’s naked body — felt the electric buzz of arousal that zipped underneath his skin — and rolled. Harry unwound they limbs with an entertaining squawk as they got perilously close to the edge of the bed.  
“Alright,” Harry said, “I’m up.” 

Draco watched Harry move unselfconsciously about the room as he looked for their clothes. His skin glowed a dark gold in the afternoon sun the muscles in his legs and arms bunching and stretching as he knelt to look under the bed. His messy hair was full of dust when he reappeared, and his eyes were bright as he slid on his glasses. A face full of clothes hit Draco in the face and distracted him from his perusal. Draco smiled at the affronted look on Harry’s face. 

“I can’t help it,” Draco said, “You’re just standing there looking like art.” Harry flushed a bright red, and Draco was charmed to see how it spread down his chest. 

“Stop it,” Harry said, “I haven no idea how to respond to that.”

“Generally, a ‘thank you’ would suffice,” Draco said, putting on his poshest voice. 

“Thank you, Draco.” Harry cupped Draco’s face in a large hand and his heart constricted at the sincerity in Harry’s voice. 

Draco could feel the heat in his cheeks, and knew Harry could probably feel it, too. They moved closer and shared a long, lingering kiss. Harry pulled away and rested his forehead against Draco’s, before moving to leave a sweet kiss on the top of his head. Draco laughed and grabbed at the pile of clothing next to him. He was a sap. Harry was a sap. They were a couple of sappy fools and Draco couldn’t take much more of this nonsense. He was a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake. 

They got dressed in silence, sharing fond looks that had them both blushing. After a quick spell to check the time, they gathered up their book bags and set off to find their eighth-year cohorts in the one place they were spending all of their time lately — the library.   
They stepped through the concealed doorway to the eighth year common room and Harry reached out and intertwined their hands. Draco’s bashful smile was interrupted when a silvery raven materialized in front of him. 

It’s glimmering beak opened and Pansy’s voice emerged, “Attacked in library. Blaise hurt. Nott escaped.”


	13. Chapter 13

Draco and Harry raced down the hall in a mad rush for the infirmary. Their steps echoed in the wide hallway and the students who filled the castle scurried out of their way at Draco’s frantic shouts. They skidded to a halt at the big wooden doors and Draco tried to yank one open, almost pulling his arm from the socket when the heavy door didn't budge an inch.

“What the fuck?” He said, giving the door another tug for good measure.

Harry tried, too. The door stayed firmly shut.

“Hey,” Harry yelled, “ let us in.” He pounded on the door with both hands.

They both froze when a silvery shape materialized in front of them. “State your name and purpose,” McGonagall’s voice said, taking the form of a very familiar cat.

“It's Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter and we’re here to see Blaise.”

The silvery cat disappeared. A moment later the heavy door swung open, slamming shut after they hurried inside.

A small group of people was gathered around a bed on the far side of the room, and Draco recognized Blaise’s mother where she was talking to McGonagall. As they got closer Pansy looked up from where she had been sitting next to the bed and jumped to her feet. She threw herself into Draco’s arms and he was terrified by the sobs that she was stifling against his robes. He saw Hermione and Ron by the bed and felt his body turn to ice as he saw Blaise’s ashen, still face where it lay against the pillow.

“Is he —” Draco couldn't finish his sentence, but Mrs. Zambini answered.

“No. He's not. He's alive.” She said, her thin form buried under a heavy traveling coat. She gave him a weak smile and Draco felt the sting of tears.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“We were just trying to figure that out,” McGonagall said, “Mrs. Zabini just arrived as well. Perhaps one of you could fill us in.” She looked to Ron, Hermione, and Pansy.

Hermione and Ron looked towards Pansy, and when she didn't move from her place in Draco’s arms, Hermione stepped forward.

“I don't know for sure,” she began, “But we were practicing Transfiguration in the library — Ron, Pansy, Blaise, and I — and we were working on facial transfigurations in pairs. Pansy was trying to transfigure Blaise to look like Draco, and I was trying to transfigure Ron to look like Harry. We were concentrating quite hard, and I only noticed Nott out of the corner of my eye at the last second. He was staring at Blaise — who looked quite like Draco at this point — and fired a spell that hit Blaise square in the back of the head. I shot off a spell of my own but it hit the shelves behind him. He fled. I followed but had no luck finding him. It's like he disappeared into thin air.”

Ron jumped in, “And once Hermione took off after him I cast a levitation charm on Blaise and brought him here as fast as I could. And I guess Pansy sent messages to all of you.”

“So we have no idea where Nott is?” Harry asked.

“So what was the spell he used?” Draco said at the same time.

“No, we don’t know where Nott is,” McGonagall said, “but as soon as I arrived here I sent off a message for all students to be escorted to their houses and the teachers are conducting a thorough sweep of the grounds. As for the spell, I don’t know. Mr. Zabini arrived only a few moments before you both did. Madam Pomfrey cast an initial spell to determine the origins, and returned to her office for a variety of potions.”

As if summoned, Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office, a large pile of potion bottles floating after her. She made a beeline for Blaise, with no acknowledgment for the group clustered around his bed. They watched in tense silence as her pile of potions dwindled with each concoction she poured down his throat. When every last drop was gone she sent the empty bottles dancing back to her office with a wave of her wand.

“Do you know—“

“Shh!” Madam Pomfrey said, cutting McGonagall off. Draco’s eyes widened. Madam Pomfrey made a series of complicated wand motions over Blaise’s body, mumbling under her breath as she worked. This continued for a few long minutes until Madame Pomfrey turned to the closest portrait who was watching curiously from its place on the wall.

“Get Margery. Tell her that I have a student who needs urgent attention and transport.” Madame Pomfrey said to the painting and the portrait of an ailing old man nodded sedately and disappeared from view.

“Well?” Mrs. Zabini finally said, after a few lengthy moments of silence.

Madam Pomfrey turned, “Oh, dear. I do apologize. Young Mr. Zabini is stable but still in quite serious condition. I’ve just sent word to St. Mungo’s,” She said, nodding at the empty portrait frame, “He’ll be taken there, where they will be better equipped to care for him.”

“But he’ll be okay?” Mrs. Zabini asked.

“I believe so. It might not be an easy journey. But I believe he reached me in enough time that he will survive.”

Draco felt Pansy draw a breath as if to speak from where he still held her when the fireplace at the far side of the room suddenly burst to life. They all jumped, and Madam Pomfrey bustled toward the two people stepping out of the cramped space. The newcomers were dressed in the cotton candy blue robes of St. Mungo’s nurses.

“You’ll be taking him right to Margery — Dr. Brown?” Madam Pomfrey asked them as she led the way towards Blaise’s bed.

“Yes, ma'am,” The shorter one said, “Can you give me his stats?”

Madam Pomfrey rattled off a long list of incomprehensible information and the short nurse nodded along, a quill and paper floating in the air next to his head capturing it all.

The taller nurse, after doing their own fancy spellwork over Blaise’s body, pulled what looked like a small pill out of their pocket. After moving to an open space in the room, Draco watched as the nurse muttered something under their breath and the tiny pill immediately began expanding until it was big enough to hold a person. The nurse led the giant floating thing over to the bed, and Draco pulled Pansy out of the way. Madam Pomfrey was still talking to the short wizard, and the taller one was levitating Blaise’s body into the pill-bed hybrid.

Draco felt a wave of panic role over him — this was all his fault. Blaise was hurt because he had looked like Draco. His friend's lives had been endangered because of some madman — someone he would have tentatively called a friend in the past — had some vendetta against him. And he had no idea how to stop it. He didn’t know how to find Nott. No one could figure out how Nott was getting in and out of Hogwarts without detection. He didn’t know what Nott was hoping to accomplish. He didn’t know how to stop him.

He hugged Pansy tighter to his chest. He would have to leave. Christmas break would start tomorrow. Then he wouldn’t come back. He would keep the people here — his friends, Harry — safe.

Within half an hour of Blaise’s arrival to the infirmary, he was on his way to St. Mungo’s. The shorter nurse stuck her head into the fire to confirm they were ready for transport, and then they all watched in shock as Blaise — in his odd pill-shaped bed — was carefully wedged into the fireplace. With a dash of Floo powder, he was on his way. The shorter nurse followed immediately after Blaise while the taller one escorted Mrs. Zabini over to the fireplace. Soon they were both gone, and the infirmary was quiet again.

“I’ll keep you updated on his status, Minerva.” Madam Pomfrey laid a light hand on McGonagall’s shoulder before bustling towards her office.

“Professor,” Hermione said, turning towards McGonagall, “Will you please keep us updated, as well?”

“Yes, of course,” McGonagall said, “And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you all to be wary. Nott has proved himself to be a ruthless foe. We are lucky he has not yet been throwing out killing curses.”

Draco could feel all the eyes on him. He knew that they were probably looking at him with pity or concern, but he couldn’t help but think about Blaise. What if Nott had used a killing curse. What if he hated Draco so much — for whatever reason — that he was ready to kill. Draco didn’t deserve their concern. He was the reason Blaise was in critical condition at St. Mungo’s right now.

“We’ll be careful,” Harry said, sliding a hand around Draco’s waist. He tried hard to appear normal — to not pull his arms away from Pansy, to not slither away from the Harry. He schooled his face into the expressionless mask he had perfected and hid the panic that was trying to claw its way up his throat. He wanted to run. To get as far away from this school as he could. But, for once, he didn’t want to run for his own sake. He wanted to escape and take the danger with him.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day passed in a haze. They went to their few classes for the day, but even Hermione was distracted from their schoolwork. It was only the massive amount of studying they had all been doing that had Draco feeling like he hadn’t flunked everything. Pansy was a wreck — hardly paying any attention to the world around her. In Charms, as they all sat hunched over their final test before the holidays began, Draco spent about as much time looking at Pansy as he did looking at his test. She sat slumped in her chair, eyes dazed and unfocused, for most of the class. Every now and then she seemed to come back to herself and scribble something down on the parchment. When the class was dismissed Draco made a beeline for Professor Flitwick.

“Sir, may I have a quick word?” Draco said.

“Of course, dear boy,” Flitwick said, “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about Pansy — Miss Parkinson, I mean.”

“Ah. I generally make it a point to never discuss a student with their peers,” Flitwick began, “but in this instance, I feel comfortable informing you that Headmistress McGonagall has made me aware of the events that occurred earlier today. I am prepared to grade Miss Parkinson's exam with quite a bit of leniency. I will, of course, do the same for you, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Potter, as well.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

“It is no problem at all, Mr. Malloy. And, of course, please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you or your friends,” Flitwick said kindly, “Now off you go, or you'll be late for your next class.

Draco repeated his thanks and hurried away. Harry and Hermione were waiting for him outside the classroom door.

“Everything alright?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, I was going to ask him to allow Pansy to retake the test at a later time, but he beat me to it and told me that he’ll be grading all our tests with leniency.”

“Oh,” Hermione said with a hearty sigh, “I was determined not to worry about it, since one test score certainly doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but that is a tremendous relief.”

“I never thought I'd see the day when Hermione Granger didn't care about a test score,” Harry said with a fond smile.

“Yes, well, I think I've changed quite a bit in the past year or so. I think we all have.”

“Where are Ron and Pansy?” Draco asked, following along as Hermione led the way down the hall.

“They went on ahead,” Hermione said, “I think he's made it his mission to get her to laugh, even for a second.”

Draco experienced a rush of affection for the lanky ginger. “That's kind of him.”

Harry stuck close to Draco’s side throughout the day as if he was expecting Nott to be hiding around every corner. Draco couldn’t help the rush of fondness that swept through his body every time Harry laid a possessive and protective hand against Draco’s back, but he also couldn’t shake his overwhelming concern that he was putting everyone in danger. The sooner he could get away from them all, the better. He would visit McGonagall’s office in the morning, get an update on Blaise’s condition, and then go home.


	14. Chapter 14

They ate dinner in the kitchens again that night. It seemed like everyone had heard about what had happened to Blaise, but very few people had made the connection to what had been happening to Draco all year. The house elves had set their table and piled it high with all the best foods that had been prepared for the feast in what Draco knew was their way of offering support and sympathy, especially since they were endlessly busy with the feast that was happening directly above them. They sat at their table set for six until Ron finally got up and shoved the empty chair halfway across the room. It had to be dragged back a few minutes later when what seemed like the entire eighth year showed up at the kitchen doors to eat with them. The house elves were sent into a tizzy and Pansy unexpectedly burst into tears. 

The elves managed to squeeze another few tables into the busy space and piled them high with food, as well. Soon, the kitchen was filled with merriment. All of the eighth years — even the ones who didn’t really know Blaise — seemed determined to provide constant entertainment. 

By the time dinner was over Draco’s stomach hurt from laughing. Ron had rattled off an endless string of jokes and Neville had snorted milk out of his nose. There was a unanimous decision to pop down to Hogsmeade for a round of end-of-term drinks, and their large group dwindled as people ran off to gather warmer clothing until only a few people remained. 

“Shall we go get drinks, Ronald?” Hermione asked, her cheeks delightfully pink from the merriment. Ron smiled fondly at her and cast a quick glance at Pansy sitting beside him.

“Of course he’ll go,” Pansy replied, “Dear Ronald would never miss a chance for me to drink him under the table.”

Ron laughed and Hermione groaned. “I suppose this is going to be another night when I’m dragging you both back to the castle by myself.”

“Nah, Hermione, I’ll help,” Neville said, standing up from the table and stretching his arms above his head. “Let’s go. Before all the others buy up all the alcohol and we’re left with nothing but prune juice.” 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Pansy hopped out of her seat and linked her arm through Neville’s. “Are you two coming?” She nodded towards where Draco sat leaning against Harry's shoulder. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry replied and Draco nodded. 

“Probably for the best,” Hermione said.

Pansy’s smile dropped from her face and Draco felt his do the same. Of course, he couldn’t go out drinking with them. He had a crazy ex-schoolmate with an unknown vendetta against him. Harry’s arm tightened around Draco’s waist. 

“Of course it’s for the best, ‘Mione,” Ron said, “if we brought them along we would need a crowbar to get them apart.” 

Everyone laughed, and the dreary mood was broken. Ron threw his arm over Hermione’s shoulders and followed Neville and Pansy out of the room. Harry pulled Draco to his feet and — after heartfelt thanks to all the house elves — they were on their way to the common room. 

They walked in silence the whole way. Harry was giving Draco nervous little glances but Draco hardly noticed. He was lost in his own head. Lost in the events of the day. He wondered how Blaise was doing. Wondered what it meant that they hadn’t reviewed any sort of update from McGonagall yet. He thought about the next day. About whether he should tell anyone before he left or whether he should just leave. If he told anyone, particularly Harry, the truth about why he was going home so soon, and alone, they wouldn’t let him go. Harry’s savior complex would kick into overdrive and he would probably try to do something stupid like following Draco home. He would have to come up with some story. Some reason why he needed to go home so suddenly. He could use his mother as an excuse but that fell a little too close for comfort. He would just have to sneak off, then. Escape everyone’s notice and disapparate home before anyone could question him. 

“Everything okay in there?” Harry asked once the reached the door to their common room and leaning over to plant a kiss on Draco’s forehead. 

“Yeah,” Draco said, not meeting Harry’s gaze, “everything’s fine. Just thinking about Blaise.”

“He’ll be okay, you know.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I’m Harry Potter. If I say he’s going to be okay then he is.”

Draco laughed, “Arrogance much?” 

“No, I think that’s you.” Harry gave Draco a little shove. Draco gasped dramatically and tackled Harry onto the floor of the empty common room. Harry squirmed beneath him until Draco finally managed to pin down all of his limbs. His chest was pressed to Harry’s and he could feel his heartbeat against his own. 

“I think our heartbeats match,” Draco said.

“Of course they do.” Harry stretched up for a kiss. Draco closed his eyes and relaxed against Harry. He realized he had released Harry from his confines when his arms wrapped around Draco’s waist. He pulled away from their kiss to snuggle into Harry’s neck. 

“See, Hermione,” Ron’s voice said from above them, “This is what we would have to deal with if we brought them along.” 

Hermione laughed and Draco lifted his head to see three pairs of feet before Harry tightened his arms to pull him back down. 

“Yuck,” Pansy said, and Draco growled when he felt her shoe poking his head. 

Harry slid his hands down to grab at Draco’s hips and started thrusting against him in little movements. 

“Draco,” Harry moaned — long and drawn out. Draco laughed and joined the game.

“Oh, yes, Harry. Just like that.” 

“Ugh,” Ron’s disgusted groan sent everyone else into fits of laughter. “Stop, it’s like watching my brother have sex.” 

Draco slid off Harry to sit up. Harry grabbed at one of Ron’s shoes and tried to trip him. “You have so many, you’ve probably seen one of them having sex before.” Harry laughed.

“Yeah, but it’s not something I want to think about.”

“Oooh,” Pansy cooed, “Who was it? Was it Charlie? Merlin, the things I would do to that man.” 

“Ew. What the hell?” Ron covered his ears. 

“It was Percy,” Hermione said as her face went bright red, “I was with him when he saw.” 

“Ugh, Percy. Well, was he at least up to something super kinky?” 

Hermione didn’t respond but seemed to get even redder. Pansy cackled with glee. 

“Alright, you disgusting fools. I need a drink.” Ron wrapped an arm around both girl’s shoulders and steered them towards the door. 

Harry was still stretched out on the floor and Draco poked him with a sharp finger.

“Hey, none of that, now,” Harry said. And grabbed Draco’s hand. 

Draco’s response was stifled by a yawn.

“Come on, time for sleeping.” Harry stood and hoisted Draco to his feet. Draco led the way to the boy’s rooms and tried not to rub at his eyes like a tired child. It had been a long, draining day. 

“Hey,” Harry said, pulling Draco to a stop at the door to Harry’s room, “um, would you want to stay with me tonight?” 

“I’m not in the mood for sex, Harry. Sorry.”

“No, I’m not either.” Harry was playing with Draco’s fingers and not making eye contact. “I was just kind of hoping to sleep next to you. But it’s okay. You probably want to sleep alone. It’d be a tight squeeze anyway.” 

Draco found he couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat, but he wrapped his arms tight around Harry’s middle and tried not to be embarrassed at the tears that watered Harry’s robes. Harry held him tight, his hands stroking over Draco’s back and twining in his hair, and whispered sweet, nonsensical things in his ear. 

“Yeah,” Draco said once he finally got control of himself, “I want to stay the night.” 

Harry smiled, bright and warm in the dark hallway, and led the way into his room. A few other people were — Neville and Seamus were pulling on endless layers of warm clothing — but they all acted like Harry and Draco were invisible, which Draco appreciated immensely. Harry led the way to the bathroom and Draco summoned his toothbrush and made Harry laugh when a startled yelp suggested it had hit someone on its way. Draco gave it a thorough rinse to make sure no face germs were still on it and stole the toothpaste out of Harry’s hand before he could squeeze any out. 

“You’re a little shit, did you know that?” Harry teased. 

“I am no such thing.” Draco smiled.

Harry spit a glob of toothpaste into the sink and Draco watched in disgust as he wandered off towards his bed. He rinsed out the sink, figuring that’s what boyfriends were for, and searched through the cabinets until he found someone’s face wash to borrow. 

Harry was sprawled out on his bed, staring aimlessly up towards the red velvet curtains that draped over the bed, and Draco climbed in beside him. Harry turned, a soft smile warming his face, and gave Draco a quick kiss. He pulled his wand from his back pocket and sent the velvet curtains closing with a quick swish. He cast a Muffliato and a deterrent in case anyone thought of bothering them and chucked his wand aside. 

“Come here,” Harry said, pulling on Draco’s shirt.

“Yes?” Draco said as he snuggled closer, “Did you want something?”

“You.” 

Draco blushed and buried his face against Harry’s chest. And two short years ago they had been attacking each other in deserted bathrooms. Now Draco couldn’t imagine anyone who helped him feel as safe as Harry did. It would be miserable leaving him tomorrow. Leaving everyone, really. He had someone acquired a surprisingly large group of people who cared for him. Which was exactly why he had to leave. They had fought their war. Everyone else — besides him and Pansy— had chosen the right side. Regardless of how little choice Draco had had in the matter, he wasn’t going to let their peace be disrupted so soon after the war. They deserved a break — Harry especially. 

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked, tracing a finger down Draco’s nose. 

“Nothing,” Draco said, stretching up to drop a kiss on Harry’s lips. “Just tired.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Harry untangled himself from Draco’s grasp and started to undress. Draco sat up to do the same. Draco watched as Harry pulled his shirt up over his head and traced over the muscles of his back with his gaze. Once they were both naked Harry pushed down the covers and climbed into bed. Draco followed his lead, glad that Harry didn’t seem to wear pajamas to bed. Draco’s own silk pajama pants were folded neatly and sitting at the top of his trunk, but he supposed he could go one night without wearing them. 

They cuddled together under the heavy duvet and Draco reveled in the feel of Harry’s bare skin against his own. He had been with other people, but it had never felt like this. Where just a touch of bare skin had heat and fondness blossoming in his belly. Harry pushed Draco back against one of the fluffy pillows and peppered gentle kisses all over his face. Draco laughed until Harry finally stopped long enough for Draco to grab him and pull his down for a real kiss. They lazily made out until their movements slowed to soft, little pecks. 

“Good night, Draco,” Harry whispered.

“Good night, Harry.”


	15. Chapter 15

Draco woke up early the next morning. He was sweating and his left arm seemed to be numb. It took him a few long moments to realize that he was in Harry’s bed with Harry sprawled out on top of him — which explained both the heat and the numbness in his arm where Harry was laying on top of it. A warm rush of love and affection washed over him without warning. Every nerve ending in his body sprang to life as if reaching for Harry’s sleeping form. He took advantage of Harry’s vulnerable state and let himself stare. Harry was stretched out on his back and was using Draco’s shoulder for a pillow. One of his legs was tangled with Draco’s and he was regularly emitting quiet, little snores. 

He still couldn't quite believe that he was dating Harry Potter — that for some unfathomable reason Harry seemed to love him. He would never have imagined that his eighth year at Hogwarts would be his best. And it was, even with the school year only half over. Even if he didn't come back for the second half — if the fight he imagined would happen with Nott as soon as he left Hogwarts didn't end well for him. Befriending his fellow eighth years, rediscovering a passion and proficiency for learning, falling in love with Harry — nothing could ever diminish the happiness he had found this year, even with another psychopath trying to hurt him.

He was getting melancholy, he realized, as Harry twitched in his sleep. All the things that had made this year wonderful were the exact reasons he had to leave. While he and Harry hadn't had any sort of conversation yet over their holiday plans, he knew quite a few seventh and eight years were staying at Hogwarts for a few extra days — including Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Pansy. And he wouldn't be surprised if they all took a trip to St. Mungo’s to see Blaise before going their separate ways. Draco had been assuming that he would stay, too. He had even said as much in his most recent letter to his mother. Although he knew she desperately wanted him home, he had been eager to spend a few uninterrupted days with Harry. Now he would be back home at the Manor before the day was done. His mother would be ecstatic, Harry likely less so. 

Draco considered trying to slip out of bed without Harry noticing and quickly dismissed the idea. If he survived his encounter with Nott, he wanted to be able to come back to school and come back to what he had with Harry. Sneaking out of bed and disappearing entirely seemed like a good way to start a fight. He snuggled closer to Harry instead. Harry snuffled a few times and blinked open sleepy eyes. 

“Hi, sleepyhead,” Draco said, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. 

“Mmmm.” Harry grinned and rolled away from Draco to stretch. “Did you sleep well? I’m starving.”

“I did. And I believe consuming food generally solves that problem.”

Harry rolled back towards him, “Draco, would you like to go consume food with me?”

They climbed out of bed and managed to get dressed in a reasonably short amount of time. Draco limited himself to three instances of groping. He grabbed Harry’s ass as he was trying to get his pants up, gave it a resounding slap once it was covered from Draco’s view, and finished by giving Harry’s bicep a squeeze. Harry, of course, had his hands all over Draco, as well. 

By the time they were presentable they were both laughing and Draco was more than a little turned on. Luckily, the flowing robes they wore around school did an excellent job at hiding any uncontrollable boners. 

Neville was up and moving, too, and Draco followed him into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He had a speechless moment when Neville stripped down and stepped into an empty shower stall. When had Neville — who Draco couldn’t help but think of as a chubby, little klutz — suddenly develop a body that had Draco drooling? 

“You can look for free, but if you come any closer I’ll have to charge you,” Neville said and Draco dragged his gaze away from Neville’s lower half to see his amused grin. Draco felt himself flush and he turned quickly to look only at the sink in front of him. He heard Neville laugh and the clinking of the shower curtain sliding closed. He blew out a deep breath and tried to get control of his newly-enthused boner. Geez. Neville. 

Once he had gotten himself slightly more under control he wandered back out into the room and found Harry lying in bed with Ron and Hermione.   
“What is it with you Gryffindors? I thought Slytherins were supposed to be the attractive, kinky ones,” Draco said. 

“Hey,” Harry sat up, “You think I’m attractive.” 

“Yes, dear. Everyone thinks you’re attractive. Have you seen a cover of Witch Weekly in the past six months? Your face is plastered all over it. Even Ronald probably thinks you’re attractive and he’s as straight as an arrow,” Draco scoffed. 

Harry looked at Ron and wiggled his eyebrows. 

“You’re a real looker, mate. Unfortunately, you don’t have boobs.” Ron reached around Harry to give Hermione’s chest a quick squeeze. She squeaked and pushed both boys out of bed. 

Their antics had woken up almost everyone else in the room and soon everyone was dressed and ready to find some breakfast. 

“Is anyone taking the Express?” Neville asked, glancing at the watch on his wrist, “It’ll be leaving in about ten minutes.”

“Who would take the train when we can all just apparate?” Seamus scoffed. 

“You never know.” Neville led the way from the room.

Other eighth years were lounging about in the common room and Draco looked around, wondering what in the world they were all doing there when Pansy came running from the hallway that led to the girls' rooms. She was holding a folded piece of paper in her hand and came to a stop in front of Draco.

“It’s from — about Blaise!” She said, and the room became very quiet. “He’s going to be okay. The healers at St. Mungo’s figured out how to counteract the curse — although that was a bit touch and go for a bit and Mrs. Zambini was apparently quite alarmed — and he’s not going to have any lingering effects from the curse aside from a slight possibility of occasional sensitivity on the back of his head where the curse hit.”

“Oh, Pansy,” Hermione cried, sweeping her up in a tight hug, “that’s wonderful!”

“Thank Merlin for that, mate,” Ron said, giving both girls a soft pat on the back before turning to Harry and Draco and doing the same. 

Harry turned towards Draco, his eyes bright and happy, and Draco couldn’t help the tears that suddenly blurred his sight. He saw the blob that way Harry move closer and then felt two strong arms wrap tightly around him.

“He’s going to be fine,” Harry’s voice whispered in his ear, “He’ll be just great, Draco.” 

He clung to Harry, hiding the tears that were leaking down his cheeks against Harry’s robe. Everyone in the room was celebrating Blaise’s recovery, but it wouldn’t be long before they all remembered that it was his fault that Blaise had been hurt in the first place. As long as Nott was still out there, Draco would be putting anyone around him in danger. He needed to confront Nott and figure out what he wanted. And he needed to do it alone. He wouldn’t have any more of his friends hurt on his behalf. He needed to leave — soon. 

“It’ll still be about a week before he’s released,” Pansy said after the room had quieted, “but he’ll be home right in time for Christmas and he’ll have a full two weeks to rest before coming back for next term.”

“Amazing,” Ron said, looking a little teary-eyed himself. 

“Oh, Ron, you great big lug,” Pansy dragged Hermione — whose arm was still wrapped around Pansy’s waist — over to Ron to give him a hug. 

“None of that,” Ron sniffed, “I’m starving. Let’s go get some breakfast.” 

There was a collective cheer and the room began to empty. 

“I’m going to go grab a sweater,” Draco said as Harry began to move toward the door, “I’ll catch up in just a minute.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Harry stopped. 

“No!” Draco lowered his voice, “I mean, no, go with the pack of else we’ll be the last ones there and Ron will eat all the bacon and then I’ll have to kill him.” 

Harry laughed, “Alright. I’ll run ahead and save you some, but hurry, okay? I don’t really want you in the halls alone for too long.” 

“I’ll be safe, I promise.” Draco pulled Harry close for a soft kiss before pushing him towards the door. He turned away before Harry could see the worry that he knew pinched at his features. He heard the common room door shut behind him as he hurried towards his room.

He found his school bag and dumped everything out on his bed. He shoved it full with clothes he’d need over the break and ran to the bathroom to gather up his toiletries. Even when rushed he couldn’t forget his face wash or his hair potions. 

Once his bag was stuffed with everything he could conceivably think to bring — including a variety of small vials of potions he had been experimenting with. He was ready to leave. He would hopefully be back at the manor before anyone thought to look for him. And with Pansy’s update from McGonagall, he didn’t have to add the extra stop of visiting the headmistress to check on Blaise’s condition. 

He was halfway out his door before turning back to hastily scrawl a note on a spare piece of parchment. He went with his original excuse and claimed that something had come up with his mother and that he had to immediately return home. But he would see everyone when break was done, he added with false cheer. He threw it down atop his pillow and ran from the room. He had wasted too much time writing it, but hopefully, it would stop his wonderful Boy Wonder from doing something stupid like showing up at his house. He just needed to get outside of the school boundaries and then he was in the clear. He could apparate home and face the threat of Nott without endangering anyone else. 

With one last glance around the room, he threw his bag over his shoulder and left. He would be gone before anyone could notice. And he could face Nott on his own. And, ideally, he’d be back at school for the next term. 

Which was a little idealistic, he knew. But all the reckless Gryffindors he could now call his friends seemed to be rubbing off on him. He was going to face this problem head on. And hopefully, when things did come to a head, he could use a bit of his Slytherin cunning to talk his way out of the situation. He didn’t quite have the same Defensive magic ability that Boy Wonder seemed to possess. 

He shook off the fear that was settling in the pit of his stomach as he took a side staircase down to the main floor. He had time to worry later. He had to get out of the castle before he stumbled across any of his plethora of friends. He had to deal with his mother — who would likely expire on the spot when he showed up at her front door. And then, and only then, would he start worrying about Nott. Hopefully, the angry imbecile wouldn’t do something stupid like not follow Draco to the manor. 

He was walking across the lawn, headed for the front gate when a shadow suddenly fell across his path. He glanced to his right and froze as he met Headmistress McGonagall’s steady gaze. 

“Leaving, Mr. Malfoy?” 

“Erm, yes. I received a letter from my mother calling me home.” 

“Indeed.” 

“Yes, well. Cheerio,” Draco gave her a little bow and stepped towards the gate. 

“I’m sure your friends are sad to see you go.” McGonagall’s voice stopped him. 

“Yes, of course,” Draco pasted a smile on his face, “very sad. So much sad. But I’ll be back to see them soon. I really must be off.” 

He walked away before she could say anything else. He probably hadn’t done the best job of convincing her that everything was fine, but he was a nervous wreck already and he needed to get off of school grounds. Luckily, she didn’t stop him. He made it through the front gate and turned on the spot.


	16. Chapter 16

He stumbled as he landed on the front lawn of the Manor, feeling the unnerving sensation of the wards surrounding the manor recognizing him as a Malfoy — like having an egg cracked atop one’s head and feeling the runny insides sliding downwards. He shook it off and set off up the gravel drive leading to the front door. The peacocks that had decorated the lawn for longer than Draco could remember were no longer there. Neither were the imposing hedges that had lined the drive. The decor in the house had changed drastically since he had last been home, he noticed as he stepped through the front door. The house felt stale and the sumptuous furnishings were growing shabby without the meticulous upkeep that had previously been the norm throughout the house. 

A house elf came shuffling out of the shadows and, upon seeing who he was, gave a shallow bow and wrapped his long, spindly arms around the bag Draco was holding at his side. He watched the house elf movie slowly up the steep staircase and tried not to feel overwhelmed by despair. The letters he had frequently received from his mother had given Draco glimpses into the despair that seemed to be overwhelming her, but he had not really braced himself for what that would look like in reality. It was easy to ignore his mother’s declining mental state in favor of the camaraderie he had found at Hogwarts. He had always written his own letters back, of course — long, detailed letters where he tried to offer her any sort of encouragement or comfort that he could. 

He headed for the library. While it had been primarily his father’s domain throughout his life, Draco had found his mother there with increasing frequency after the war ended. He wondered if she was trying to feel closer to Lucius — who was serving a life sentence in Azkaban along with many of the other Death Eaters who had been caught after the war. Theodore Nott’s father was included in that number. 

He found his mother there. Wrapped up in throw blanket on the couch before the fireplace. As he moved closer he could see that the fire wasn’t lit and she was staring blankly into the space where it should be. 

“Mother?” He said very quietly. 

She jumped and screamed, leaping from the couch and getting tangled in the blanket as she did. 

“It’s alright,” Draco said, reaching out to her, “It’s just me. It’s just Draco.”

“Draco,” she whispered.

“Yes, Mama. It’s me.” 

“You are home?”

“Yes.” He took a tentative step towards her and then another when she didn’t flinch away. Soon he was close enough to wrap his arms around her. Her body felt frail and weak under his hands and the tight ball of anxiety and fear that had settled in his stomach seemed to grow heavier. 

After a depressing morning spent with his mother, Draco decided that he needed to be productive for the rest of the day. And hopefully, involve his mother in that productivity. Sitting around wasn’t going to do either of them any good. His mother would just sink further into her depression and Draco would probably explode worrying about Nott. 

Draco started in the kitchen. Despite the rather dreary decor in the rest of the house, the kitchen had always been bright and warm and inviting. He had spent a lot of time sitting at the little table in the corner reading a book while the kitchen bustled with movement around him. The house elves who worked in the kitchen had always liked him, despite the wrath they would have incurred had his father caught Draco wasting his time in the kitchens. As Draco had gotten older he had convinced some of the elves to teach him how to cook a few things. He had discovered that it was quite similar to potions and that he seemed to have a natural talent for it. 

He set his mother up at the same table that he had spent much of his childhood sitting at faced the room. It had fared better than what he had seen of the rest of the house, but it still wasn’t as bright or welcoming as it his younger self remembered it to be. He felt his mother’s eyes on his back as he threw open the heavy draperies that covered the windows. Weak sunlight floated in and added some much-needed light to the room. Unfortunately, it also highlighted the dust that covered the floors and the cobwebs that were strung across the corners of the room. A group of house elves had scurried into the kitchen shortly after Draco and his mother had entered and stood stock still in an orderly line to the left of the doorway as he perused the room. Looking at them, Draco realized that he and his parents weren’t the only people with terrible memories that lingered in the shadows of the house. But unlike Draco, his mother and the house elves were practically stuck here. They could all leave, of course. Draco had “freed” all the house elves shortly after arriving home from Azkaban, but they had all burst into tears and refused to leave. Now they were employed and making a pittance, but at least he hadn’t had to endure the lecture that Hermione had reamed Pansy and Blaise with about S.P.E.W. Draco remembered Harry looking at him in surprise when he had mentioned that his family’s house elves had been free for a few months. 

He approached the elves slowly, wondering how he had suddenly become the caretaker for a household of damaged beings. He watched one of the elves start to shake as he moved closer and he stopped once he was a few feet away, He kept his hands where they could see them and away from the wand in his back pocket. 

“I was hoping to do some cooking,” he said gently. 

“Wh-what would you like, sir?” One of the elves squeaked. 

“No, you misunderstand. I would like to do some cooking of my own, not just have something made for me. Like I did when I was a boy.” He looked towards one of the older house elves — at least he assumed she was older since they all seemed to have a plethora of wrinkles from birth. “It’s a little dirty in here, though. I was wondering if you would help me clean?” 

“Help,” One of the elves gasped, “No, no, good sir. Squeaky will clean up all by herself. Sir does not need to lift a finger.”

“Thank you, Squeaky,” Draco said, “but I would like to help.” 

With that he moved away from them, opening and closing cabinets at random looking for cleaning supplies. He found a broom in a tall cabinet in a far corner of the room and set it to sweeping with a swish of his wand. His mother and the elves watched in fascinated and slightly horrified silence. Neither had probably ever seen anyone with the surname Malfoy doing any sort of cleaning. As Draco turned to the pots and dishes that filled the sink he heard a squeak behind him and turned to see Squeaky rushing forwards.

“I will help, sir. Let Squeaky do that, kind sir,” She said and with a snap of her fingers, the sink began to fill with water and soapy bubbles. Draco nodded his thanks and smiled as the other elves rushed forward to help. He smiled at his mother where she still sat at the small table and was pleased to see her looking around with an expression of amused disbelief and a small smile on her lips. 

Draco set to work on the cobwebs that clung to the high ceilings and before he knew it the whole kitchen was sparkling. Someone had lit a fire in the fireplace next to the table where his mother sat and she had stretched out one foot to feel the warmth. The house elves were cheerfully chattering and one was piling food onto the counter while the others set to work chopping and washing. Draco didn’t know what they were making, but he joined them and tried to go unnoticed. He didn't want them to stop their happy conversations on his behalf. Maybe all would turn out alright, he thought as he looked around the room. A house elf had wandered over to sit at the table next to his mother and appeared to be teaching her how to peel a potato. He was obviously living in an alternate reality. Befriending Gryffindors. Feeling bad for house elves. Watching his mother peel a potato. 

Soon they had a light lunch made and Draco sat at the small table with his mother while they ate. He was gratified to see that she ate most of her food. Considering the state of the kitchen, he doubted that anyone in the house had been eating much lately. He linked arms with his mother when they were done and left the house elves to their cooking. With the amazing smells that filled the kitchen, he couldn’t wait for dinner. His mother tried to steer them towards the library but Draco forged ahead to the front door. He wrapped his mother up in a heavy cloak and donned his own before stepping outside. It was blustery but the sky was clear. Their walk wouldn’t be interrupted by a torrential downpour. 

“I’m glad you’re home, Draco,” his mother said after a few minutes of silence. 

“I am, too, Mother.”

“I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon.” She made it sound like an apology and Draco realized that if he had come home when he originally planned all signs of unhappiness would have been swept clean— from the house and from her own person. She continued, “I figured you would want to stay with Harry.” 

Draco’s insides turned to ice even as he kept his face from showing any emotion and his gait smooth. “What do you mean?” 

She shot him a knowing glance. “I assumed you would want to squeeze in all the time you could with your new boyfriend before you were forced to part for a few weeks.” 

“He’s not—it’s not like that.” Draco felt his stomach twist at the lie. 

“Oh, Draco, darling. You don’t have to hide it from me. I could tell from your letters that you had developed some strong feelings for him. And you two spend so much time together.” She patted his arm with her skeletal hand. 

“And you’re okay with it?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His mother shrugged — her shoulders tense — and he knew it wasn’t as easy for her as she pretended it was. 

“He’s the reason for our family’s downfall,” he said.

“No, he’s not,” she said, and Draco looked at her in surprise, “the Dark Lord is responsible for that. Your Harry is the reason we have a second chance.”

Draco pulled her to a stop and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He hid his watery eyes in the length of her white-gold hair and tried not to sniffle too loudly. He had known he was gay since before he left for Hogwarts and he told his mother after his first year there. But he had never had a boyfriend — at least not someone who meant enough that his mother needed to know about them. He hadn’t thought much about how his mother would react to him dating Harry — he had been hoping that conversation wouldn’t come around for quite awhile. But he was glad now that she knew. And equally glad that she was willing to set any hard feelings aside. 

“Does father know?” He asked, pulling away from the embrace. 

“Yes, I mentioned it briefly in the last letter I sent to him.” She rested her hand in the crook of his bent elbow and steered them back towards the house. “I haven’t received a letter back, so I don’t know his response.”

“Lovely,” Draco said. His father would likely not take it well. Harry’s testimony — while the integral piece in establishing Draco’s release — had offered no help to Lucius. 

“Don’t worry, darling. Whatever his response, you have my blessing. Not that you need it of course.” 

“It’s appreciated all the same.” He smiled.

Draco walked his mother back to the house and then did a quick circle around the large, stone structure reinforcing the wards that protected his home. Hopefully, whenever Nott tried to get through the wards an alarm would sound from Draco’s wand.

He was removing his cloak in the front hall and leaving it with the waiting house elf when his wand began to wail.


	17. Chapter 17

Draco silenced the alarm as it blared from his wand and cast a sweeping spell over the house to find the break in the ward. A smoky figure slid from the end of his wand. He watched the figure as it climbed the tall iron fence that surrounded the property. He cast a quick directional spell, grabbed his cloak from the startled house elf, and ran out the door. He paused while he was still hidden from view of the fence and cast a disillusionment charm. He felt the disconcerting sensation of the spell sliding down his spine and watched as his body blended into his environment. 

He moved quickly across the lawn towards where he could see someone flailing in the prickly rose bushes that lined the inside of the fence. His hand was sweating and his wand felt slippery where it was clenched in his fist. This was it. He would face Nott, they would probably duel, Draco might figure out why the hell the guy was so angry, and it would all be over. He might not survive, he thought as the figure stood, it’s cloak obscuring its face from view. The figure was tall and thin and Draco wondered when Nott had lost the bulk that had filled his frame at school. 

The figure turned and Draco cast a binding spell. He had expected Nott to be a bit more of a ferocious opponent and was surprised when he fell to the ground with a surprised yelp. Had he thought that Draco would just wait inside like a good little boy for Nott to come and attack him? 

“Ron!” Said a voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione. 

“This was dumb. We should have waited for the damn owl,” a Pansy-sounding voice said.

The figure —Ron?— was lying face down on the ground and was still completely covered by his cloak. Was this some sort of trick? Some sort of elaborate charm that somehow created auditory hallucinations? That seemed quite advanced. He crept slowly towards the figure, ignoring the voices he could hear arguing on the other side of the fence — hidden from view by the dense rose bushes. He nudged the figure with his foot and received a mumbled curse in return. He nudged again and part of the cloak slid away to reveal a pale hand covered in freckles. It was Ron! 

He threw his wand to the side and rolled Ron over. Ron sputtered and spit out a bit of grass and dirt. His face must have been pressed right against the ground. 

Ron met Draco’s stunned gaze with a ferocious one of his own. “Draco, you stupid git. What the hell are you doing going around attacking people?”

“Draco?” Harry’s voice came from the other side of the fence and Draco tried to suppress the rush of pleasure that swept through his body. 

He turned back to Ron, “What are you doing climbing the fucking fences? We have wards, you know.”

“Obviously, mate, you live in a fortress.” Ron struggled against his magical binds and Draco searched the tall grass for his wand. ‘That’s why we didn’t try anything magical to get in. We figured climbing the fence would be too muggle for your advanced security.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Draco said, waving away Ron’s binds after finding his wand. 

“Draco, be a doll and let us in, would you?” Pansy drawled. 

“Yeah, meet me at the gate,” Draco said and pulled Ron to his feet. 

Draco led the way across the lawn while Ron continued to combine Draco’s name with swear words under his breath. Hermione, Pansy, and Harry were standing outside the gate to his house and he fought his disbelief. This was not how he had pictured this happening. He still had too much adrenaline in his body after thinking Ron was Nott and now he had to convince three Gryffindors and a Slytherin that he was fine and that they needed to go away. He laid his hand against the wrought-iron gate and felt it turn to mist beneath his palm. Pansy led the way through and Hermione gave a little shudder as she passed through the black-tinged vapor. He realized that he could add three more people to the list of people traumatized by his house. He could still see the blood leaving Hermione’s face as Bellatrix pressed a blade to her forearm. He could still hear Ron’s screams ringing through the house from the cellar — a jarring echo of Hermione’s. He could still see Harry’s face — distorted and swollen from Hermione’s ingenuity — and the overwhelming terror that had flooded his body upon realizing that it really was Harry Potter standing in his house. And they undoubtedly had horrific memories of their own to fill his thought-crowded home. 

Pansy walked up and punched him hard on the arm before squeezing the breath out of him in a hug.

“Good to see you, too, Pans,” he wheezed.

“You’re an idiot,” she said before looping her arm through Ron’s and starting up the long drive. Hermione gave Draco a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried after them.

Draco shot a panicked glance at Harry and froze when he met his gaze. Somewhere along the way he had lost his ability to hide his emotions from his wonder boy. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hi.” 

“Erm, what are you all doing here?” Draco asked. “Not that you aren't welcome. Because you are. Obviously.”

“You never came down to breakfast.”

“I left a note.”

Harry nodded, looking troubled. “We ran into McGonagall on our way back to the common room after breakfast. We thought you had been attacked again. But McGonagall told us that you had left.”

“Ah, so you didn’t see my note?” Draco tried to ignore the guilt that was twisting in his stomach. He hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn’t like he and Harry were married. He was free to come and go as he pleased. 

“I did,” Harry frowned, “I went into your room after I had packed up some stuff and saw it.”

“Packed up to…come here?” 

“Yup.” Harry stared at Draco.

“Ah,” Draco said when nothing else came to mind. He looked up the driveway to see his mother opening the front door and letting the other three into the house. Shit. Now there would be no getting rid of them. Which also meant that there would be no reprieve from this awkward conversation. The other three didn’t give them a second glance as they followed his mother inside and shut the door after them. He turned back towards Harry.

“Are you going to explain yourself? Harry asked, his cute, fluffy eyebrows scrunching up around his eyes. 

Draco fidgeted. “My mother wanted me to come home.” 

“Yeah, you said that in your note. I didn’t really believe it, though. You were weird all morning and I couldn’t figure out why. You were planning to leave, weren’t you? And you were never planning on telling me in person.” 

“I’m sorry,” Draco said. 

“You should be. That was a shitty thing to do,” Harry turned away and ran a hand through his hair. “You left to face Nott on your own, right?” Harry said, turning back towards Draco who was startled to see that his eyes were a little red.

Draco shook his head, “It’s not your fight, Harry.”

“It’s not yours alone, either.” Draco stumbled when Harry gave him a hard shove. “You’re so stupid, you know that?” 

Draco could feel his frustration building. Didn’t any of them realize that he was just trying to keep them safe? “I’m stupid? You’re the one who followed me here. You and your stupid savior complex. Well, you can’t save me, Harry. Leave while you still can.” Draco gave Harry a push of his own. 

“People are allowed to care about you, Draco. You’re not broken just because you were a Death Eater.” Harry’s face was ruddy with anger. “That has nothing to do with this.”

Harry laughed — a rough, unpleasant sound — and took a step closer so that they were almost nose to nose, “It has everything to do with this. You think that this is all your fault. That you deserve to have Nott attacking you.”

“Don’t act like you know what I feel. You don’t. You have no fucking idea.”

“So tell me, you idiot.” Harry grabbed Draco’s arms, his fingers tight and painful on Draco’s biceps. 

“I can’t,” Draco said, his voice loud and angry. He pulled away from Harry’s grasp and was surprised at the rush of tears that made everything blurry. “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell any of you. You all did the right thing. You chose the right side. Even Pansy and Blaise stayed pretty neutral. I didn’t. He was in my house, Harry.” The tears were sliding freely down his cheeks and his throat felt raw. “You think you know because he was in your head and because you had to fight him, but you don’t. You don’t know, Harry. I had to live with him. I had to do his bidding or face his wrath. You don’t know what that’s like. You don’t know what that does to you.” 

Harry was watching him with wide eyes, and Draco realized he was sobbing — big, heavy sobs that had him shaking. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, “You’re right. I don’t know.” He took a step closer, his arms tentatively outstretched towards Draco. Draco stepped forward until Harry could reach him and cried as Harry pulled him close. He was murmuring sweet, little nothings against Draco’s hair, on his tippy toes to wrap himself around Draco’s taller form. 

Draco pulled himself together after a few minutes and pulled away. “You guys should go.”

“Draco,” Harry’s eyebrows pulled low again, “if you think I’m leaving then you really are an idiot.”

“This isn’t your fight, Harry.”

“Yes, it is. You’re my boyfriend. He’s trying to hurt you. That makes it very much my fight,” Harry growled, “I’m going to hex the shit out of him.” 

Draco laughed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

“No one has gotten hurt because of you,” Harry intertwined their fingers. 

“Have you forgotten about Blaise? Tall bloke, flirts with anything that moves, gorgeous enough to get away with it,” Draco scoffed.

“Blaise didn’t get hurt because of you. That wasn’t your fault. The blame for that lies solely on Nott’s shoulders.”

“But Nott wouldn’t have hurt Blaise if he didn’t look like me.”

“Maybe he would have. Or maybe he wouldn’t be trying to hurt anyone if something hadn’t happened to turn him into a massive psychopathic git. You just never know.” 

“Why are you so damn level headed?” Draco said, pulling Harry closer to offset the harshness of his words, “You fought Voldemort. He practically lived in your head for awhile. Why aren’t you a psychopathic git?” 

Draco watched as Harry’s attention turned inwards — as if he was probing the depths of his mind for an answer. “I don’t know. I was a mess all summer. I hardly ate. I hardly left my house.”

“You have a house?” Draco interrupted with surprise. 

“My godfather left it to me.” Harry smiled. “It’s dreary and awful, but it’s home.” He continued after a few moments of silence, “I don’t really know how I got better. I still ache all the time for the people who lost their lives. For Fred and Remus and Dobby. And so many more people whose names feel like they’ll forever be etched onto my heart. But I realized that I had to start living again. And really living. I’ve spent practically half of my life living in fear of Voldemort. And the half before that wasn’t exactly pleasant, either. I just wanted to do what made me happy. And it took me awhile to get to a place where I could, but once I did I haven’t really looked back. I just do the things that make me happy.”

“And I make you happy?” Draco couldn’t help but ask.

“Yeah,” Harry laid a gentle hand against Draco’s cheek, “you do.” 

Draco wasn’t surprised this time when the tears started sliding down his cheeks. Harry held him close. If Draco had ever had any doubt that he loved Harry Potter with every inch of his being it was gone. He didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky, but he wasn’t going to be letting go of Harry anytime soon. 

Draco wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater and interlaced their fingers. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I was leaving.” 

“It’s okay. I understand.” 

“I’m terrified.”

“Me too. One perk of having a psychopath’s thoughts inside your head is that sometimes you can anticipate their next move.”

Draco shuddered, “I do not want Nott inside my head. Can you imagine if he was in there just watching? When we had sex? Or when I took a shower?”

Harry laughed, “It doesn’t work quite like that.” 

“You never know. Nott seems to have turned into a sadistic little fucker, he could have all sorts of voyeuristic tendencies.” 

Harry smiled and made a face, “Come on, let’s go inside.”


	18. Chapter 18

They found everyone in the drawing room. Hermione was kneeling on the floor next to the house elf who was lighting a roaring fire. Pansy and Ron were sitting on either side of his mother on the sofa, and seemed to have her in tears of laughter. Draco stopped in the doorway, his hand squeezing hard at Harry’s. His mother was laughing — laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her cheeks. Harry was smiling at him — bright and happy — when he turned to look. Draco wandered farther into the room and took a tentative seat on a chair near the sofa.

“Draco, darling,” his mother said after wiping at the tear tracks that stained her cheeks, “you didn’t tell me you had invited your friends over.”

“I didn’t,” Draco said and Pansy rolled her eyes, “they just showed up here.”

“Well, I’m quite glad they did. They are marvelously entertaining.” Her eyes were bright and warm, and she was wearing a genuine smile. He hadn’t seen her so happy in what seemed like years. He glanced at Ron, whose smile seemed only a little tight around the edges, and Hermione who was a little subdued but seemed to be enjoying herself none-the-less. He wished he had the words to tell them how much this meant to him — that they would willingly enter his home where so many terrible memories lingered. He sufficed with an emotion-filled nod and smile to them both. They seemed to understand.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco spent the next three days in a state of blissful disbelief. His friends were with him in his home and his mother seemed genuinely happy. Nott hadn’t attacked him and his friends seemed to have forgiven him for running off without telling them. He could almost convince himself that this was his life — Harry sleeping in his bed each night, a house full of people who weren’t neurotic. Well, they were all a little bit neurotic — his mother’s smile still fell every now and then and Draco would watch as she sunk back into herself for a few long, painful moments, Harry and Draco both still had nightmares, Pansy refused to talk about Blaise or St. Mungo’s, and Ron hovered around a quiet and shy Hermione around the clock. They would all bear their scars from the war.

Draco just hoped that he wasn’t going to be adding more by not sending them all away. He hadn’t considered that his mother would be in danger if he came home. He certainly hadn’t considered that all four of his friends would follow him home. They were innocents. Nott’s problem — whatever it was — seemed to be with Draco alone.

He tried to ignore the fear that settled like a weight in his stomach and focus on his friends. He didn’t want them to see how scared he was — especially his mother, who still didn’t know that Nott had been attacking him. So he tried to enjoy himself. He tried to soak up every minute that he had.

Eventually the topic came up of when everyone would be leaving, and Ron mentioned that they were all invited to the Burrow for Christmas. He had gotten an owl from his mother this morning, in fact, that had essentially demanded him to ask. Hermione and Harry had already been planning to go, of course — even though Harry had shared his uncertainty about being in the same house with Ginny and her entire family with Draco the night before — but Pansy and Draco had both been shocked. Draco’s shock continued when Ron explained that the invitation extended to both of their families, too.

“We don’t have enough room for people to stay,” Ron had said with a blush, “but my mom’s big on having everyone and their cousin over on Christmas Day.”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly intrude,” Narcissa said, and Draco could see the shake of her hand at the thought of leaving the house, “but it is so very kind of your mother to offer. Please give her my sincerest thanks.”

“I would love to come,” Pansy said, and Draco had looked at her in surprise. “My parents have actually moved out of the country,” she played with the hem of her shirt and didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, “I would love to have somewhere to go on Christmas.”

“You can stay with me, then.” Hermione took Pansy’s hand in hers. “I’m going to meet my parents at a bed and breakfast that’s close to the Burrow in a few days. I have a room there all to myself and I believe it has two beds. My parents would be overjoyed. They worry that I have no female friends.”

“Oh no,” Pansy said, looking terrified, “I couldn’t possibly stay with you and your parents. You’ll want to spend time with them and I’ll just be in the way.”

“Nonsense,” Hermione said in what Draco was coming to recognize as her no-nonsense voice, “you’ll be a wonderful inclusion. You must come. I won’t hear anything otherwise.”

“And I’m pretty sure my mom won’t take no for an answer from any of you,” Ron said, looking at Draco’s mother. “Your sister, Andromeda, will be there. I’ve overheard her mention to my mother how she’s been trying to work up the nerve to send you an owl.”

“Oh,” Narcissa said with surprise, “I haven’t seen her in quite some time. She has a grandson? Teddy?” She looked at Harry.

“She does. He’s pretty cute,” Harry said.

“You’ve been hoping to reconcile with Andromeda, too. Haven’t you Mother?” Draco said, hoping that his mother would leave their drafty house full of lingering hurts and go to the Burrow. Not that Draco would go. He couldn’t put all those people in danger. But he would try to weasel his way out of that when the time came.

“I have. Well, I suppose if it really wouldn’t trouble your mother, I see no reason why Draco and I couldn’t stop by for an hour. We wouldn’t stay too long, of course, and put more of a strain on your house and your mother.”

“She’ll be thrilled,” Ron said with sincerity. Draco wondered what it had been liking growing up in the Weasley household. There seemed to be a lot of love and acceptance there.

“It’s settled, then,” Harry said. “You three will leave for the Burrow, or the Bed and Breakfast, in a couple days,” Harry nodded towards Ron, Hermione, and Pansy, “and I’ll stay here and escort Draco and Mrs. Malfoy to the Burrow on Christmas Day. If it’s alright that I stay a little longer, Mrs. Malfoy.” Harry blushed.

“Of course it is,” she said, “and you know I’ve asked you to call me Narcissa. We would love to have you stay.”

Ron had gone off to send a letter to his mother and Hermione had dragged Pansy up to her room to call her parents on something called a cell phone. Narcissa had begun to stack all their teacups back on the tray and Draco watched Harry notice the way her hands shook. He wrapped his hands around hers and began to tell her all about Teddy and the Weasley’s. Draco felt his heart clench in his chest.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loooooooong chapter. Hope you enjoy it :)

The day before Ron, Hermione, and Pansy were set to leave for the Burrow, Draco was making cookies in the kitchen. Hermione had taught him how to do it the Muggle way the day before. No magic to stir the thick dough, no spell to make sure every measurement was precise and the eggs cracked perfectly down the middle. He was covered in flour and he was pretty sure he had butter on his elbow, but he was having a great time. He had sent everyone out of the kitchen — including the house elves, who seemed incapable of not helping if they were there — and was enjoying the solitude. He could hear Ron’s loud laughter from down the hall.

He was balling up the dough and plopping it on a large sheet of metal when there was a sound in the doorway.

“Hey, I said no one was supposed to come in here,” He said, turning. He froze when he realized the hooded figure in the doorway wasn’t anyone friendly. “Hello, Nott.”

“Draco,” the figure rasped. He was standing in the shadows and Draco couldn’t see his face, but the husk of his voice made Draco shiver. The man standing in front of him was not the one he had been on friendly terms with at school. He was changed — whether through hatred or dark magic, Draco didn’t know.

“I’m getting a little tired of being cursed by you,” Draco said, wiping his hands on a towel and hoping it hid the way they shook.

“Let me finish the job, then.”

“Job? Is someone paying you to do this.”

Nott laughed — a painful, scratchy sound, “No, Draco. You’re the only one here who will be paying.” He turned to look down the hallway and Draco used his distraction to pull his wand from his back pocket. He didn’t raise it, but he felt instantly better with it in his hand. Wandless magic didn’t come easily to him when he was stressed, and he was practically vibrating with anxiety. Nott turned back, “Although, maybe a few other people in this house owe me a little something, as well.”

Draco stiffened but said nothing. He wouldn’t give Nott the satisfaction of knowing he had landed a hit. Nott laughed again and Draco resisted the urge to cringe.

“Come on, Draco, I know you care about them. That’s why you made me follow you home. Hoping to spare them? I will admit it took me awhile to find you. I didn’t think you would go somewhere so obvious. I had expected a coward to go into hiding, but I guess getting fucked by a Gryffindor gives you some courage.” Nott stepped forward and the light hit his face. Draco couldn’t stop the gasp that flew from his lips. Nott was hideous. His face was scared and mottled and his skin was stretched tightly over protruding bones. He had been dabbling in dark magic and his body was rebelling.

“What did you do?” Draco was horrified.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Nott said, his voice low and menacing, “I did what had to be done. I set out to fix what you and your family ruined.”

“What are you talking about?” Draco’s hand was sweaty on his wand. He had known that Nott wasn’t likely to be completely normal what with him sneaking into Hogwarts to attack Draco. And he had known that he possessed high levels of magical ability to have been able to get in and out of Hogwarts undetected. But the man standing in front of him had gone so far beyond healthy and sane that Draco felt the almost-forgotten twist of pure terror in his gut that he hadn’t felt since the Dark Lord had been killed.

“You ruined everything,” Nott spat. “You and your incompetent father. You and the traitorous bitch you call a mother.”

Draco resisted the urge to react blindly in his fury at the slight to his mother. “Nott, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Your father couldn’t get the prophecy from a weak adolescent boy. You couldn’t recognize Harry fucking Potter when he stood in front of you. Your mother lied to the Dark Lord in order to save her worthless skin. You are the reason the Dark Lord is gone. You are the reason that my father is in Azkaban. You are the reason that mudbloods and blood traitors roam free. And you are the one fucking Harry Potter. You and your worthless, insolent, depraved family are the reason that everything is fucking ruined.” By the end of his tirade, Nott was panting and the kitchen was echoing with the strength of his voice. Draco cast a quick glance into the hallway behind Nott, hoping and dreading in equal measure that everyone would soon be barging into the room in alarm. “Don’t think you’ll be getting any help from the disgusting vermin you call friends,” Nott said, noticing Draco’s gaze, “They won’t be able to hear a thing.”

“No, this is between you and me, Nott. Just like you said, I'm the reason that everything went wrong.”

“You’re right,” Nott said, “glad you’ve accepted that.” His cheeks turned up in something that had likely been a smile before his face had been so drastically changed by dark magic. Instead, it looked like a leering grimace.

“Who was the boy who attacked me first?” Draco asked, letting his curiosity get the better of him and hoping with little faith that Nott would just keep talking until someone eventually came to check on what was taking his cookies so long.

“A distant cousin,” Nott said, with a wave of impatience. “I realized he was at Hogwarts and was hoping he could do the job for me. He was an incompetent fool, of course, and I realized that it was a job I needed to do on my own.”

Draco was so anxious he felt like his whole body must be vibrating. He was a good wizard and had powerful magical abilities, but he would be the first to admit that those abilities tended to come out most noticeably in Potions and Transfiguration — not in Defense Against Dark Arts. He had become careless and comfortable with his friends around him. He had forgotten to be on guard. He didn’t have any of the vials of potions that he had brewed specifically for this encounter. He wasn’t prepared. He didn’t want this to be happening. He had a new admiration for Harry.

Nott raised his wand so fast that Draco — lost in his anxieties — almost missed it. Luckily, he seemed to have a decent amount of skill in ducking, and he managed to dive behind the counter as a green jet of light flew over his head. The curse hit the wall and shattered into thousands of green sparks.

“Come on, Draco,” Nott jeered, “this will be over sooner if you just stand still.”

Draco was still ducked behind the island that filled the center of the room and he scurried away from Nott’s voice. He cast a shield charm over himself and popped up. He had a general sense of where Nott was and he shot three quick stunners in a row in that direction. Nott waved them away with a shield charm of his own but stumbled back against the wall.

Draco, meanwhile, was thinking quickly. He couldn’t kill Nott — although that seemed to be Nott’s goal for Draco — but he needed to incapacitate him in some way so that he could get help. He had been foolish not to ask before this. Harry, of all people, obviously had some experience with defensive magic.

He dodged out of the way as Nott cast another curse. Nott had always been an excellent wizard, but his anger or his delusions were keeping him from venturing into more complex magical attacks. Which meant that he was deadly, obviously, but could potentially be outsmarted.

Draco cast a series of charms in quick succession that were meant to confuse and distract, and he managed to get them off before a Cruciatus Curse broke through his shield. Draco fell to the floor and gritted his teeth against the pain that flooded his body. Draco’s charms seemed to work, though, and the pain receded as Nott batted at the imaginary bats that were flying at his head.

Nott was shooting curses at random and the kitchen was filled with sparks as they crashed against the walls and ceiling. Draco stayed hidden behind the island. He needed to keep the island between him and Nott. Nott’s curses were obviously strong enough to break through Draco’s shields, and he had been lucky that the Cruciatus that had sent him to the ground hadn’t been a killing curse. His best bet was to keep Nott distracted and to find some way to remove whatever spell Nott had cast that kept everyone from coming to investigate the noise.

“Come on, Draco,” Nott said, sounding angry, “I don’t want to play games.”

The charms had worn off then, or Nott had realized that the bats attacking him weren’t real. Draco took a deep breath and filled the room with heavy fog. When he was winded with the effort he carefully stood. He could see Nott scanning the room with unfocused eyes, his wand following the motion. He pulled open the drawer closest to him and ducked when a bright green curse flew past his left shoulder. He grabbed a handful of the silverware that was inside and ducked down again. He spread his handful out on the floor and transfigured them until they were all sliding across the floor towards Nott. Draco hoped he had remembered correctly and almost let out a cheer when he heard Nott’s panicked yelp. The snakes were hissing and rattling their tails and Nott was backing up until he was pressed against the wall, Draco saw as he peeked over the countertop. Despite having been sorted into Slytherin, Nott had mentioned offhand a few years back that he was petrified of snakes. He still had his wand out in front of him, and Draco knew he likely had a powerful shield charm up as well, but he let the snakes do their job and began casting all the counter-spells he knew towards the hallway leading out of the kitchen. He needed help.

Nott began to panic as the slithering creatures moved closer to him and he began his constant volley of curses anew. Draco huddled behind the counter and watched as every counter-spell he cast down the hall bounced back.

“Accio cookies,” Draco said under his breath and jumped as the little balls of dough came flying over to fall into his lap. “Accio frying pan, Accio pots.” Draco summoned anything he could think of and began transfiguring them all into snakes and bats and spiders before sending them all slithering, shrieking, or scurrying towards Nott. The fog was beginning to disperse and Draco funneled more into the room and could feel his energy waning. Geez, fighting someone was difficult. How had Harry, Ron, and Hermione done this for a year?

Nott began to cast stunners at the ground around him as he became overwhelmed with creepy creatures. Draco stood, somewhat sure that Nott was too overwhelmed and obscured to notice. He began to creep towards the hallway and was halfway across the room when his wand suddenly flew from his hand. He looked up to meet Nott’s focused gaze and realized that the fog around him wasn’t as dense as it appeared to be. Nott must have been fanning it away without Draco’s notice. Nott’s attention turned back to the snakes who were beginning to wrap themselves around his legs and Draco made a diving leap back to the safety of the island. A jet of green light caught at the hem of his jeans and he scurried behind the island until he was completely covered.

His head was spinning and he realized he was hyperventilating. He focused on taking deep, even breaths and tried to resign himself to his fate. He was wandless. He had no protection against a crazy person who was obviously casting to kill. He shifted quietly, trying to hear where Nott was and what he was doing, and his hand knocked against the frying pan he had gotten halfway through transfiguring. It was covered in shimmering green scales but it still held it’s original shape. He wrapped both hands around the handle and hefted it to his chest. What he would do with a frying pan against a murderous wizard he didn’t know, but it was his only option.

He heard the scurrying stop and figured that Nott had finally gotten rid of all Draco’s transfigured creations. He had nothing left. No defense except a giant flat pot that was dressed like a snake. He wondered if a killing curse would bounce right off it or go right through.

“Going to cower until then end, then, Draco?” Nott said, and Draco adjusted his sweaty fingers on the handle of the pan. He was getting closer and Draco strained to hear his footsteps.

He froze as he heard a sound from the doorway. He turned and met Harry’s terror-filled gaze. He watched, in what seemed to be slow motion, as Harry’s hand dove into his front pocket where Draco knew he kept his wand. At the same moment, Nott’s twisted and terrible face came into view around the corner of the island. Draco watched his mouth move, saw his lips twist around an Avada and Draco jumped up from his crouch and swung with all his might. He watched Nott’s eyes widen, watched his words stutter to a stop. He watched as his frying pan caught the tip of Nott’s wand and watched it snap. He watched as the pan kept up its momentum and crashed into Nott’s face. Nott’s head snapped back and his body went limp. He crashed to the ground and stayed down. The heavy pan wrenched Draco’s arm against its socket and he cringed. The world righted itself — time rushed back to its normal rate. He stood, his chest heaving, his shoulder throbbing, and looked up to meet Harry’s gaze where he still stood in the doorway.

He could hear footsteps pounding down the hall and Harry was pushed into the room as everyone else came crowding in behind him.

“What the fuck?” Hermione screeched, seeing Nott’s prone form on the floor.

Draco realized that he still hadn’t moved when Pansy came to pull the heavy pan from his grip. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and petted the short hairs at the base of his head. His mother was standing in the doorway with both hands pressed tightly to her mouth.

Ron cast a stunning and binding spell on Nott, just in case the frying pan didn’t do the job and strode towards the fireplace. Presumably, he would call someone who could deal with the unconscious figure in his mother’s kitchen.

“What happened?” Hermione asked once she had gained her composure.

“He attacked me,” Draco said through chattering teeth.

“How did he get in without any of us noticing?” Harry said. He was pacing back and forth across the length of the kitchen and his hair was in total disarray from running his hands through it.

“He cast some sort of spell to keep you all from hearing what was happening,” Draco said.

“I figured as much.” Harry frowned. “I noticed some weird magic when I came to check on you.”

“Draco,” Narcissa said from the doorway, “what is going on?”

Draco sighed and was startled when tears filled his eyes. He gave her the whole story in between shaky sobs. By the end, she was holding tightly to both of his hands and crooning softly to him — just as she had done when he had been scared as a child.

“Oh, Draco. I wish you had told me.”

“I didn’t want to alarm you.”

Oh, Draco,” she said again and pulled him close for a tight hug.

The fireplace burst to life and Ron was the only one who didn’t jump about a mile into the air. Two Aurors stepped through, followed closely by Headmistress McGonagall.

“Minevra, how could you not tell me what was going on?” Narcissa scolded, stepping around the jurors. Draco met Harry’s surprised gaze at their apparent camaraderie. It seemed like everyone knew of the animosity between his father and Dumbledore, and it seemed as their two right-hand women, so to speak, that they would not be friendly.

McGonagall wrapped an arm around Narcissa’s slight shoulders and led her toward a chair. She took a long look at Nott as she passed him.

“He’s alive,” one of the Aurors said, standing from where he’d been feeling for a pulse, “out like a light, but alive.”

“Can someone tell me what happened here?” The other Auror asked, his persona as gruff as his voice.

Draco took a deep breath and squeezed Pansy’s hand as she came to stand next to him again. He told the story from the beginning, with McGonagall’s assistance and then the Aurors levitated Nott’s prone form between them and disappeared back into the flames.

Draco spent the rest of the evening as the center of everyone’s attention. Everyone except the one person’s attention who he actually wanted. Harry had hardly looked at him for the entire night.

McGonagall wound up staying for dinner at Narcissa’s insistence before returning to Hogwarts. Draco had cried for what seemed like the millionth time when she had given Draco a quick, light hug before leaving. She had pulled away looking a little flustered at her unexpected behavior and Ron had laughed for a solid five minutes after she, too, disappeared into the flames.

 

* * *

 

 

“I hardly recognized him,” Hermione said later that night, once Narcissa had gone to bed, “when I saw him lying on the floor. For a second I thought it was Voldemort.”

Ron moved from his place across the sitting room to sit on the arm of her chair and hold her hand.

“He blamed me,” Draco said, “for putting his father in Azkaban, I think. He ranted for awhile about how I ruined everything, but I think that was the part that hurt him the most.”

“And he thought he was going to get him out by fucking up his face?” Ron asked scathingly.

“Dark magic gave Voldemort tremendous power. I imagine that was very appealing to Nott, having lost control of so much in his life,” Hermione said wisely.

“It’s weird, to know that he was someone who I was friendly with a few years ago, and today he tried to kill me in my own home,” Draco said.

“He changed,” Harry said, speaking up for the first time in awhile. “He wasn’t the same person.”

“Oh!” Hermione said into the following silence, “Harry, that’s why we couldn’t see him on the map! He’s changed so much the map probably didn’t recognize him.”

“Hermione, you’re a genius,” Ron said fondly.

“Map?” Pansy asked.

The rest of the night was spent reminiscing on the various escapades they had all gotten away with in school. Ron had mocked Harry for a few fun minutes about his crush on Draco in relation to the magical map, which Draco had greatly enjoyed even if Harry still didn’t make eye contact with him.

But before Draco was ready everyone was yawning and drifting off to bed. Draco didn’t move from his spot on the couch. Harry didn’t move from where he was poking at the dying fire. They had slept in the same bed ever since Harry’s arrival, but Draco couldn’t think of anything more awkward at the moment. Harry had obviously realized that Draco was a liability and certainly not the right person for him. Draco’s chest gave a painful squeeze at the thought, but he ignored it. He would do what was best for Harry. Even if that meant letting him go.

“I can sleep here, on the couch,” Draco said as the silence stretched so thin it felt like a sliver underneath his skin.

“What?” Harry asked, turning to face him. “What are you talking about?”

“Sleeping? I can sleep here. You can have my room to yourself.”

“Why would I want your room to myself?”

“Uh,” Draco said as he picked at the perfectly smooth edges of his fingernails, “you don’t seem like you want to sleep next to me tonight. Which is fine. I’ll sleep here. I don’t mind.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to sleep next to you?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, getting frustrated. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Harry, willing him to explain his day-long silence so Draco could stop playing guessing games fueled by insecurities.

“Of course I want to sleep next to you,” Harry said, running a hand through his already-messy hair and clenching the wavy strands in his fist. “You almost got killed today. I never want to let you out of my sight again. I’m certainly not going to let you sleep in an entirely separate room.”

Draco stared. “What? You still want me around?”

“Of course I still want you around. What the hell is going on?” Harry asked, looking around the room as if to discover their conversation was actually an elaborate joke. Draco was pretty sure there was some sort of American television show that did that. He would have to ask Blaise, who had turned to television to cope with his grief after the war. Pansy and Draco had protested for only a short while before discovering that it was quite entertaining.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked.

“I feel like we’re talking in circles. Why have you spent the whole day looking at me like I’ve kicked your puppy?”

“I don’t have a puppy,” Draco said and was startled when Harry emitted a ferocious growl.

“You know what I mean.”

“Not really. I think that’s a muggle phrase. But at least I’ve been looking at you. I don’t think you’ve looked at me once since I saw you in the doorway of the kitchen.”

Harry cringed and turned quickly back towards the fireplace. Draco watched his hands clenching at his sides and stood to slowly cross the room towards him.

“Harry,” Draco said softly, “please tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I can’t stop seeing it,” Harry said after a long pause, and he reached up to tug at his hair.

“Seeing what?”

“Him,” Harry said, suddenly whirling around to face Draco. “I see him standing over you with his wand pointed at your head and I can’t get it out. That’s all I see.”

“I’m safe, Harry. I’m here.”

“I should have protected you.”

“There was nothing you could have done, Harry. Nott would have found a way to get me alone. Anyone else would have skewed the odds in my favor. He’s a good wizard, but not that good.”

“I should have gone after him myself.” Tears crept down Harry’s cheeks and Draco swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tight against his body, trying to reassure him with his touch.

“You can’t fight my battles for me, Harry. Nott was after me, not you. It was something I needed to deal with on my own.” Draco petted his messy hair and tried in vain to smooth it back down. “And it’s over now. I’m safe, my love. I’m okay.”

“I was so scared, Draco,” Harry cried. Draco nodded and realized he was murmuring the same nonsense his mother crooned to him when he was upset.

Draco held him until Harry pulled away. He pushed his glasses out of the way to wipe at his face with the sleeves of his sweater and tried to turn away. His cheeks were glowing red and Draco wondered when Harry had last cried in front of someone. He had become a pillar of strength for the wizarding community. The Boy Who Lived, a strong and inspiring example of good for people to admire and emulate across the country. At least, that seemed to be the ministry’s spin on things from the little Draco had seen of public affairs after the war ended.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, “you’re the one who got attacked today and here I am blubbering all over you. I should be the one comforting you.”

Draco shrugged, “Sometimes I think it’s harder to be the person standing on the sidelines.”

Harry gave a shaky breath and nodded. “I’m not used to it. I’ve always been the one who fights. Always the one who has to stand up and face the madman. I never realized how hard it is to stand by and watch someone you love face death.”

Draco blushed and then laughed when he saw the rosiness staining Harry’s cheeks as well.

“I do love you,” Harry said.

“I do love you, too.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t looked at you all day.” Harry took one of Draco’s hands in his own. “I felt like if I did I would just tackle you to the ground and never let you out of my sight again. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“It’s okay,” Draco said, “I understand. I thought maybe you were realizing that I’m too much of a hassle.”

“No,” Harry said fervently, “never. Never too much. You’re the perfect amount of hassle.”

Draco smiled and pulled Harry in close. He bent his head and set his lips against Harry’s. They kissed for a few long moments before Harry pulled away.

“Let’s go to bed,” Harry said, “I want to get you naked.”

Draco laughed and followed him out of the room. It seemed like years ago that Nott attacked him, it was hard to believe it had been less than twelve hours earlier. But he wasn’t going to think about that. His only focus was Harry.


	20. Chapter 20

Pansy, Ron, and Hermione left the next morning after breakfast. They had all offered to extend their stay to make sure Draco was okay, but he assured them that he was and practically pushed them out the door. He would see them all soon at the Burrow.

He gave Pansy a long hug before she left and assured her that he would take on Hermione’s parents himself if they caused her any trouble. She had laughed and he had seen her nerves settle. She was a brighter, happier girl than the one he had known for the past few years at Hogwarts and he wondered how much her parents being gone had to do with that. They didn't talk much about their families but Draco knew that hers hadn't ever been the happiest of scenarios. He was glad she had gotten to see into his family life a bit with her stay at the Manor. Maybe they would both learn from their Gryffindor friends and actually talk about their feelings now.

After they left, Draco and Harry took a long walk around the grounds while Narcissa responded to a letter from Draco’s father. Lucius hadn't been thrilled at Draco’s choice for a boyfriend, it seemed. But Narcissa had assured Draco that he would come around. He was learning to be a better human, she had said. And he knew his mother was right, his father was a changed man. Unfortunately, that change had come too late.

Draco led Harry on the winding nature walk that looped around the property. It had conveniently spaced benches for resting and was beautiful even in the winter. They hardly stopped touching throughout — their hands intertwined, Harry’s arm wrapped around Draco’s waist, Draco pulling them to a stop for deep kisses, cheeky groping.

They were at the end of the walk — where the path dropped them close to the front gates — when he noticed a group of people standing behind the wrought iron. Harry noticed in the same moment, and he reached out and wrapped an arm around Draco’s waist and put Draco firmly behind him. Draco’s heart was beating hard in his chest, but his initial fear quickly turned to anger when he realized who was standing outside of his house.

“It’s reporters,” Draco said.

“Shit.” Harry quickly stepped away, his hand dropping from where it was holding Draco tight against his back. But Draco knew the damage was already done. He didn’t bother pulling his wand from his pocket and made a tense sweep of his arm towards the gate, which immediately became opaque. He turned towards Harry, apologies falling from his lips.

“Draco, this is not your fault,” Harry said firmly when he could finally get a word in.

“Of course it is. We should have just stayed in the house. It was my stupid idea to go wandering off outside. And now look what’s happened.” Draco paced in small circles, his hands clenched at his sides.

“What? If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine. I was the one who showed up here unannounced. I’m the one who wrapped my arms around you when we first saw them.”

Draco waved a dismissive hand. “That doesn’t matter. They would have made up the same story even if we had been ten feet apart. You’re at my house, we’re walking around alone together. We’re supposed to be enemies. As Nott so helpfully pointed out, you’re not supposed to be fucking your enemies.””

“We’re not fucking,” Harry said, looking affronted.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, we are. But it’s not just fucking.We’re in love,” Harry said and his cheeks bloomed red.

“They’re not going to care,” Draco said, gesturing towards the reporters who were assumedly still standing on the other side of the fence. “They’re just going to care that we’re together.” A horrifying thought crossed Draco’s mind. “You’re not even out are you?”

“No,” Harry said, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, “at least, not publicly.”

“For Merlin’s sake,” Draco groaned, “this is going to be a nightmare.”

“It’s not like I forced you to be with me,” Harry said, and Draco throat clenched at the tears he could see in Harry’s eyes. “You knew who I was when all of this started.” Harry swiped at his eyes with his sweater paws. “I’ll just make up some story to explain it all away. I’m sure the ministry will be thrilled to do it for me. They probably don’t want a gay poster boy. Bisexual, really, but I doubt they would like that either.”

Draco gaped at him. “You’re not going to explain it all away,” He said furiously. “We’re dating. We’re in love. You said it yourself. You don’t get to just explain all that away. And the ministry can go to hell for all I care. So can those damn reporters.”

“Draco, they saw us. We’re not going to be able to hide it any longer.”

“Who said anything about hiding? I’ll tell the whole fucking world that I’m in love with you. Those fucking reporters can be damned. I’ll tell the story myself. I’ll write the fucking Minister of Magic.”

Harry laughed, “He already knows.”

“What?” Draco stared at him. “The Minister of Magic knows we’re dating?”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged, “we write each other fairly often and it came up.”

“It came up? That’s not something that just comes up in normal conversation.”

“Yes it does,” Harry said, looking defensive again. “We’re friendly. Friends tell each other that stuff. And you’re the one who was just saying you're going to tell everyone.”

“That’s irrelevant. And I still will, if you want me to.”

“Do you want to?”

“I want everyone to know that you’re mine,” Draco said quietly.

Harry smiled. “Then let them write their article. They can make all sorts of wild speculations and when we get back to Hogwarts we can send Luna our own version of the events. It’ll take the wind right out of everyone’s sails.”

“Sounds perfect.” Draco leaned down to give him a kiss.

“You really don’t mind?” Harry said as they pulled away from each other. “Everyone knowing that we’re dating, that is.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. Are you sure that you don’t mind being outed because you’re dating your arch-nemesis.”

“I’m not dating my arch-nemesis.” Harry smirked, “I’m more attracted to people with noses.”

Draco laughed and wrapped his arms tightly around Harry’s waist.

“I do have a pretty nice nose,” Draco said, rubbing his against Harry’s cheek and down to bite at his neck.

“You do,” Harry smiled.

They walked back to the house with their arms wrapped around each other. Draco let the spell over the front gates gradually fade and he knew that the reporters had probably gotten a good look at them before they disappeared inside the house. He was publicly dating Harry Potter. And while a part of him would likely always panic at that thought, he was quite happy to be doing so.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco could feel his mother’s arm shaking as he escorted her up the cobbled path to the Burrow’s front door. Draco wasn’t feeling entirely calm himself, but Harry’s presence at his side was helping with his nerves. He wondered how the Weasley’s would react knowing that Harry had gone from dating their darling daughter to dating a former death eater whose psychotic aunt had tried to kill Mrs. Weasley. Ron hadn’t lied about Mrs. Weasley extending the invitation to both Draco and his mother, though. Draco had forced Ron to show him the letter before he had left for the Burrow in a moment of panic.

They would stay an hour or two at the most. Preferably a single hour. And then they would go home. Although his mother had told him the day before that she was thinking of moving elsewhere. Of closing up the house and finding a little cottage near the ocean. She couldn’t sell it, of course, that power was not hers since she was not a Malfoy by blood. But she didn’t think she wanted to live there any longer.

Draco had been a little shocked, having only ever known the Manor as home, but the more he thought about it the more he liked the idea. His mother needed to restart her life. Her husband was in Azkaban and would be for the rest of his life. She had a grown son who would soon be making his own way in the world. He had told her this morning that he fully supported the idea. Not that she needed his blessing, of course, but she seemed to appreciate it anyways.

The door to the Burrow swung open before they could reach it and Ron’s freckled head popped out.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Ron said. “I told Mum about what happened at your house, Draco, and she’s been in a right panic. She keeps saying you probably got attacked on the way here and won’t stop going on about the Floo being a better option.”

“Oh dear,” Narcissa said, “I’m sorry we’re a little late, I didn’t mean to worry your mother.”

Ron shrugged, “It’s alright. Worrying’s her favorite past time. If you were early she would have found something else to harp on. Come on inside, Mum’s been cooking for what seems like days.”

Ron stepped back and held the door for them. It was like stepping into a warm bath. The cramped front hall of the burrow led right into the family room and the whole place was bustling with people and soft golden light. His mother grasped Draco’s hand hard in hers, but when he looked at her he saw a warm, genuine smile pulling at her cheeks.

“Harry!” There was a collective cry throughout the room as Harry stepped through the doorway and soon they were mobbed with people.

Draco felt a moment of sharp panic but it settled as Harry stayed at his side, introducing Draco and his mother to everyone who came to hug him. A few people gave them weird looks — Percy Weasley gave Draco a hard look, and George and Ginny stayed where they were sitting in a far corner. Draco tried to avoid Ginny’s speculative gaze. Harry had said that they had parted on good terms. But he was very aware that he was her ex-boyfriend’s new beau.

Andromeda came out of the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley close behind her and they stopped when they saw who had just come in. Draco tensed, ready to whisk his mother out of the house and away if either of them so much as looked at her wrong.

“Oh, wonderful!” Mrs. Weasley came bustling over. “I’m so glad you all made it. I was getting just the slightest bit worried.” Ron snorted from where he stood behind her and she gave him a sharp whack without looking that managed to his him right in the stomach. “Welcome to our home. Harry, dear, you need no such welcome as you’re family. It’s a little crowded in here. Arthur mentioned that I might have invited a few too many people but my son Charlie is setting up something called an RV in the backyard where some of us will be able to eat. It’s apparently quite large inside, but I haven’t been in to see it. Arther is out there looking at it's engine, but that’s not worth mentioning. He’ll be along soon I’m sure.”

Mrs. Weasley finally drew a breath and Narcissa jumped in with an apology for their late arrival. Draco watched her eyes drift to Andromeda and his heart clenched when he saw the tears that filled her eyes.

“Andromeda, how are you doing?” Narcissa said quietly. Mrs. Weasley bustled everyone but Draco away with a minimum of fuss.

“I’m quite well. And you?”

“Yes, I’m alright.”

“I’m sorry about your husband, Narcissa.”

“And I yours.” Narcissa reached out with shaking fingers and took Andromeda’s hand in hers, “And I am sorrier than I could ever say about your daughter.”

Tears filled Andromeda’s eyes and Narcissa’s spilled over down her cheeks. With stifled sobs they embraced each other, their dark and light hair contrasting. Draco wandered away to give them some privacy and tried to ignore the anxiety that was buzzing under his skin. Hermione was in a serious conversation with Ginny and George in the corner and Pansy, Ron, and Harry were nowhere to be seen. He moved towards the back door, wondering if they were out back helping Charlie with whatever an RV was. The back door suddenly filled with a large, bulky figure.

“Hello Hagrid,” Draco said, trying hard to project friendliness from every pore of his body. This whole house was filled with people who should hate him. What in the world was he doing here? Befriending a few Gryffindors didn’t mean that he was absolved of all his wrong-doing.

“Malfoy,” Hagrid said, his voice gruff, “‘Arry said you were ‘ere. Yer datin’ him now, eh? Ya better treat ‘im right, that’s all I’ve got to say ‘bout that.”

Draco quickly nodded, “I will. I promise.” He noticed a few other people watching their conversation and nodded again for good measure.

“Yer friend Goyle didn’t come back to school with ya, did he?”

“No, he got a job in Romania.”

“He did, did he?” Hagrid grinned — at least the fluffy beard that covered his face seemed to move up like the giant was smiling. “And wot’s he doing out there?”

“Dragons,” a voice said from behind Hagrid. With a little maneuvering on Hagrid’s part, they could see Charlie Weasley standing in the doorway.

“Dragons, ya said, Charlie? He’s workin’ with you then?”

“He’s working with my team, yeah. I haven’t been back since the war ended. Wanted to be home and all that.”

Hagrid pulled a large spotted handkerchief from one of his many pockets and mopped at his eyes which, presumably, were leaking tears. “Yer a good boy, Charlie. Always a good boy. And your Goyle’s a good one too, Malfoy.”

“He is, sir,” Draco said. He knew Goyle had gone off to work with dragons, but he hadn’t realized that he was working on Charlie Weasley’s team. He would have to send Goyle another letter congratulating him. Draco had been absurdly proud of his stoic friend when he had first gotten the position, and he wondered if Greg had known how prestigious the team he would be working with was and had tried to downplay it.

Charlie and Hagrid started a convoluted conversation about magical creatures and Draco stopped trying to keep up after they started talking about the majestic flobber worm. Harry and Pansy appeared in the doorway and Draco latched himself to Pansy’s side and followed her around the room for the next hour while Harry got stuck in the flobber worm conversation.

Pansy was comfortable with almost everyone there, he realized. He knew that Hermione had probably spent a decent portion of her time over the past few days at the Burrow, but he had expected that Pansy might not. Eventually, Pansy went over to talk to Ginny — who she seemed to have developed an instant friendship with — and Draco was left on his own again.

“Are you avoiding me?” Harry’s voice asked from behind him.

Draco turned, “What? Why would I be avoiding you?”

“I don't know,” Harry shrugged, “you just haven't spent any time with me since we got to the Burrow. I thought maybe you were uncomfortable.”

“I am, but not because of you. It's just a little odd to be your boyfriend at your ex-girlfriend’s house, surrounded by her entire family.”

Harry laughed, “Yeah, it's a little weird. Ginny’s dating someone, though. Hermione told me. Ginny just didn't want to overwhelm them by having them here today.”

“Ah, so only I get to be that lucky.”

“Yup.” Harry grinned.

Draco squashed the panicky discomfort that was still setting up camp in his stomach and gave Harry a quick kiss. He jumped when someone behind him gave a loud whistle. He turned to find a grinning George. Draco could feel the blood rushing to his face while Harry laughed. Harry took Draco’s hand and pulled him towards where George still sat with Ginny and Hermione. Harry’s face showed none of his discomforts but Draco could feel his sweaty hand. The small group welcomed them with smiles – somewhat awkwardly on Ginny’s part.

Luckily, they didn't have to make conversation for long before Mrs. Weasley was calling everyone into the kitchen to fill a plate. Finding a place to sit would be a challenge, but the aromas emanating from the kitchen would surely distract from the cramped quarters.

Draco filled his plate and Harry led him to a corner of the living room where two folding chairs had been wedged. They sat and stuffed themselves full of delicious food. Draco could see his mother engrossed in a lively conversation with Andromeda and Mrs. Weasley. Pansy was in the opposite corner of the room with Ron and George and their raucous laughter filled the room at regular intervals. Hermione was listening intently to something Hagrid saying. And Pansy had pulled him aside earlier to show him the letter she had received from Blaise the day before. He was home resting with his mother and couldn't wait to see them all when school started up again.

He was happy, Draco realized with a start as he looked around the room. He had love and laughter and light in his life. And to think that he had wanted to get his eighth year over with as soon as possible. Now he didn't want it to end. Harry twined their fingers together and lifted Draco’s hand to his mouth to drop a kiss on each knuckle. Draco blushed and laughed. Or maybe it would be alright if it came to an end, as long as he got to keep the boy at his side.


End file.
